No Such Thing as Love
by dangerousandbeautiful
Summary: He saves lives. She works the corner. When Bella finds herself newly homeless, she is kidnapped and forced into prostitution. Broken, Bella feels no more reason to live. Edward stumbles upon her and pays for one night of her company, intentions pure. AH
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's all Stephenie's.

No Such Thing as Love

Chapter One

Worst Day of My Life

I rolled the aggravating tension out of my neck, attempting to avoid Jessica Stanley's glares as I cleaned Table Three. She had been that way with me all week, sticking her leg out when I walked near her, sneering at me from the kitchen window, dropping food and drinks on purpose, all so that I would have to clean them up. She even got her friend Lauren to come in as a customer and sit at one of my tables, thoroughly ruining my day by claiming I got her all the wrong things, even though I knew I always heard her correctly.

Jessica hated me, plain and simple. I couldn't do anything about it, however, because she was dating Mike, the co-manager of Riley's Bar and Grill, my current workplace. Mike and Jessica had been working here for about four years, and I was the newcomer, the outcast, having been here only six months-six months of absolute and unending hell in this godforsaken restaurant.

Mike flirted with me day in and day out. He loved to call me in for overtime, and at first I thought he had secretly hated me, but then I realized that he had developed a crush on me. He and Jessica had been a couple long before I showed up, and now I was on the bad end of Jessica's jealousy, even though I had never once returned his advances. Every day I feared going to work, not because I was afraid of the petty girl, but because I knew this wouldn't last forever. One day, Jessica would confront Mike for his disloyalty, and he would have to choose between satisfying his girlfriend by getting rid of me or keeping me around, the girl who had shown no interest in him whatsoever. I had a feeling shit would go down soon, and I had an even worse feeling about what his choice would be. Something told me today was the day.

I felt a quick slap on my ass and turned around, ready to punch whoever it was who had the nerve to mess with me on this horrific day, and saw that it was Mike, of course, holding the towel he had wrapped and whipped me with. I swallowed in the retort that was about to rush out of my mouth, instantly becoming calm in the presence of my boss. I wished the real manager of this place would come more often, instead of the measly twice a month visits he made, and then I might have a chance to confront him about the man he had hired to take care of Riley's. I smiled at Mike politely as he wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. _Really, Asshole? Do you have to do that right in front of your girlfriend? She hates me enough as it is, _I thought. I peeked a look at Jessica, who was staring at me with a look that could kill. Then she rolled her eyes and swished her hair, walking away and out of view.

"What are you doing for your break, Bella?" Mike asked, leaning against the table I was trying to wipe clean.

"I don't know. I really need some groceries." _Definitely nothing with you, Jackass, _I mentally added. I always tried to keep our conversations short, but he could never seem to take the hint.

"Oh, well, you can always go shopping later," Mike said. His mouth opened to continue and I prayed that he wasn't going to ask me to go somewhere with him. I needed this job, but I wasn't above hitting my boss if he was inappropriate with me. "Maybe we could do something together-"

I cut him off. "No, I think I really need to get my errands done, but thank you, Mike," I said, slowly backing away from him. I couldn't believe he had the nerve to flirt with me, especially when his girlfriend was in close proximity.

My break wasn't for another hour, and I couldn't wait to get away from here, even if it was only for an hour. Telling Mike I had to go grocery shopping was only a half-lie. Truly, it could wait for tomorrow.

"Mike!" I heard the bitch yell from the kitchen. I heard him groan before he finally-thankfully-left my presence. I could hear the couple arguing as I cleaned the rest of my tables, and it was obviously about me. It was beyond me that Mike still put up with her even after he showed his preference for me. He was the co-manager, after all; he could just fire the pest. I suspected that she was his fall-back pussy, and he only stayed with her because he couldn't get anyone else. I honestly wanted them both gone, but if I had to choose between the two, I'd vote Jessica gone. I'd take aggravating flirting over constant death glares any day.

The next hour passed by surprisingly fast, and it was finally time for my break. I had an hour off, and then I would have to come back to Riley's until nine, the closing time. I picked up a muffuletta with extra olives and ate on my way to the nearest grocery store. Walking through the food aisles always brought memories of Charlie back to me. I missed my father so much; he had been my rock for so long. I was in my second year of college when he died of a massive heart attack, and I was heartbroken My mother had left when I was four, and I had no clear memories of her. Charlie was my best friend, and we had the best relationship a father and daughter could have. He passed nearly a year ago, and then my life took a turn for the worst. I had no money; all I had was a measly scholarship and a grant, but that wouldn't pay for my dad's house bills, and it certainly wouldn't get me through two more years of college. I also lost the motivation for anything. I was going for a bachelor's degree in Business, but after my dad died, it was hard to get back to routine.

I had a few friends back in Forks, but nothing worth staying for. I tried getting a job everywhere, but there was just nothing available in my little hometown. Going around town killed me, too. Every place I went, people tried to console me or talk about how good of a man the police chief had been. I didn't want to deal with it anymore, any of it. So, I decided I needed to get away and start over. Something about the city of New Orleans attracted me, and there was also the fact that it was a very big, very busy city. I knew I could find a job somewhere, for sure. I also loved how the city had gone through so much with Hurricane Katrina, and yet it still stayed strong. I packed my bags and sold my father's house, bought a one way ticket and vowed to not look back. My first three months were spent in a shitty apartment just on the outskirts of New Orleans. I'd never realized how much an apartment in New Orleans could cost; it was a small fortune I could not afford. It was very hard to adjust, especially with the extremely different weather from Forks, Washington. It was sweltering and humid here, and it was below sea level, which really freaked me out. If there was a flood, I was pretty doomed. And there were so many different kinds of people. One day I could be greeted by the nicest couple who offered to invite me over some time, and the next day I could be walking in the French Quarters, minding my own business when some asshole drives by yelling at me to "eat shit." One day I could be really happy with my decision to move to 'Nawlins,' as the locals called it, and the next day I could be completely miserable.

I got the job at Riley's, and even though I was struggling, I was getting by. I was a stranger in a big city, but I was fine with that; I always felt like a nobody anyway. Then I met Jacob Black, my current boyfriend, and I moved into his apartment shortly after we started dating. His apartment wasn't anything special, but it was much nicer than mine, plus it was in the city and closer to Riley's. I wasn't really in love with Jacob, he wasn't my whole world, but I loved him, and I knew I could be in love with him one day. I gave my virginity to him shortly after moving in, and we'd been together three months so far. I'd been doing many things I would normally deem unacceptable, but like I said, I was screwed up after my father's death. Jacob was good to me, and he made me happy-as happy as I could be. He was pretty quiet, though, lately, and I figured it was because he was not used to living with a girl. Jacob had changed much of his life for me, and even though I hated being needy, I really depended on him.

I stared at the 'Fresh Vegetables' sign in quiet wonder, my thoughts drifting back to what could have been had Charlie not passed. I shook my head, getting rid of the pointless 'what ifs'. My fate was decided, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't go back in time to change the future; and focusing on it only made me more depressed.

I sighed and walked into the frozen section, hoping Jake was in the mood for fried fish.

I got back at work five minutes before my break hour was over, and I could tell something was askew. Mike didn't greet me with his usual toothy grin, and Jessica was standing by the swinging door that led to the kitchen, her hands on her hips and wearing an expression that said, "I'm waiting."

There were few customers at the moment, and all of their curious eyes were on me. _Did something go down while I was gone?_ Mike walked over to me. He leaned in close and asked to see me in the back. I nodded, my heart in my throat, fearing the worst. I followed him to the kitchen. I could still feel Jessica's glare on me as I walked past her, but I refused to look at her. I heard her footsteps as she followed behind me. When Mike turned around to face me, his eyes wouldn't meet my own. This was bad, very bad.

"Bella, I'm really sorry to tell you this-" I heard Jessica snort-"but I'm going to have to ask you to resign," he said, still not looking at me. My breath caught, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. I needed to do something, and I wasn't above begging. I walked closer to Mike.

"No! No, Mike, please! I need this job!" I cried. _I can't believe you're letting that bitch have her way! _I wanted to shout.

"Bella, I'm sure you understand my decision what with the economy being so bad right now. You're not the first person I've had to lay off," he lied. The tears ran down my numb cheeks.

"Look at me, Michael," I said. I wanted him to see the sadness in my eyes. I wanted him to know what he was doing to me. I wanted to look into his eyes and see that he really meant it. He obliged, and I saw his baby blue eyes flicker with pity before hardening. He wasn't going to change his mind. My hands came up to wipe my tears, and I heard Jessica snicker behind me like a sixteen year old girl. I could just imagine her yelling at Mike while I was gone, letting all the customers hear, embarrassing him until he agreed to her wishes of banishing me. I briefly thought about calling the top manager of Riley's to argue my being fired, but it just wasn't worth it.

I shook my head in disgust. I had one more thing to say to Michael Newton. "I can't believe you would stoop this low for pussy, Mike. Thank God I never hooked up with you." His eyes widened and he backed away from me as if I were going to hit him. I sure as hell wanted to.

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out, ignoring Jessica. The customers still looked at me as I walked between tables to get to the double doors, but I paid them no attention. I tried to keep my head up and my pride intact as I walked to my truck, but as soon as I sat in the driver's seat, the tears started again. It had taken me nearly two months to find that job, and now I would have to start all over. I wouldn't be able to survive another two months without pay. Jacob's face swam into my thoughts, and I was so thankful to have him to go home to. He would comfort me, tell me everything would be okay. He would take care of me until I found a new occupation. He had bought me the truck so that I wouldn't have to walk everywhere in this dangerous city. It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for me in a long time.

I dried my tears and started the engine, put the car in drive and headed home. Jake would be happy to finally get an early dinner, and I smiled at the thought of surprising him.

When I got to the apartment, I parked in my usual spot and walked up the stairs to the second floor, right to the door with the numbers '208' in bold. I could hear noises, but I knew it must just be the television. Jacob never had friends over. I unlocked the door and turned on the living room light. The TV wasn't on, which I found was strange since it was the only TV in the apartment, and I still heard noises.

I knew Jake was here-I'd seen his Rabbit in the parking lot. The sound was coming from our bedroom, the only bedroom in the apartment, and I walked toward it. Now there was banging and…moaning? A woman's voice?

"Oh, Jacob! Yes! Fuck me like you mean it!" I heard. I saw red and threw the bedroom door open, not even thinking about the sight I would see before me.

Sure enough, there was a strawberry blond in the bed I had slept in for the last three months. She wasn't facing me, and I could see her bare back and waist, but the rest of her was covered by the bedspread. She was hopping up and down on her knees, sitting up straight, but what really got my attention was the fingers wrapped around her waist-very manly, tan fingers, fingers I knew _very _well. The sound of the door banging against the wall barely registered with my ears, but it apparently caught the attention of the slut in my bed, because she stopped her movements and turned around to look at me. I saw Jacob's face appear around her body, and his expression turned to one of horror. It was the last thing I saw before I completely lost it.

I grabbed the snow globe from the dresser next to me and threw it at him. I must have good aim when I'm pissed because if he hadn't moved, it would have surely hit him instead of shattering against the bed's headboard. I threw everything in reach-the alarm clock, the lamp, the little flower pot I always hated.

"I thought you said she wasn't supposed to be back until after nine!" the girl shouted, ducking as I threw inanimate object after inanimate object. Jacob ignored her and ran toward me, ceasing my throws. He was still naked and hard, and it made me even more furious. He had my hands in a tight grip to keep me from hurting him, so I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He let go of me quickly to grab his not-so-hard-now junk and fell to the floor.

"Fuck!" he wheezed. I could smell the alcohol on him, and I just stared at him in satisfaction as he cradled his penis. _I hope I broke it_, I thought. Then he became angry.

"Get out of my apartment!" he shouted at me from the floor. His words didn't do anything to me-I just stood there. He gingerly got up and moved toward his pants, pulling them on. He still held himself as he walked toward me, towering over me. Now my face was full of angry tears. "Give me my keys to the apartment and _my _truck and get the fuck out, you stupid bitch!" he yelled in my face. I could see the angry dancing vein in his forehead, and he seemed intoxicated, but I knew he knew what he was doing. I didn't want to be here anyway.

"Gladly," I spat, taking both keys from my pocket and dropping them in his free hand. He was furious that I had kneed him, but I couldn't care less. I grabbed a grocery bag from the kitchen and stuffed a few jeans and shirts into it, Jacob's and the slut's eyes on me the entire time. I ran out as fast as I could, down the stairs and into the parking lot. The shock was wearing off, and I was starting to come to terms with what had just happened. I didn't want to think about it, didn't want to look at the truck and apartment that wasn't mine anymore.

I ran. I ran as fast as I could, refusing to think, refusing to let the images appear in my mind, the images of Mike firing me and Jake cheating on me. I ran to no place in particular, just letting my feet hit the road. I passed the grocery market I had gone to earlier, I passed a mall and a park. I didn't know where I was, but I wasn't going to stop.

Eventually, I felt a sting in my chest from running for so long, and slowed down, taking in my surroundings. I was in a street with every type of building imaginable. There were apartment suites, there was a hotel, a few restaurants. A few cars were parked on the side of the road.

I had no idea where I was. This part of town was not familiar at all, and fear grew inside of me. I pushed it down; being lost was better than still being at the asshole's apartment. I looked around for a sigh that indicated where I could possibly be. I could find no hint, however, and I decided to ask someone.

People were walking along the street, but it wasn't packed. There was a gypsy with tarot cards and a table right in the middle of the road. I could hear the booming music of a club nearby, and figured I could ask someone inside. When I was close to the open double doors, I saw that the club was called "The Bourbon Cowboy."

Oh, I was on Bourbon Street. _How strange._ I'd heard things about this place, but I'd never actually been to it. I looked inside The Bourbon Cowboy and met a sight that would be forever etched into my brain.

A woman inside was riding on a mechanical bull, whirling and flailing everywhere. That wasn't what bothered me, though. She was butt-ass naked, her titties flying north, south, east, and west as she held on to the damn thing. I wrenched my eyes away from the disturbing scene, and I could hear drunk men yelling for more as I walked away. Definitely not going in there, I thought.

I walked around for a little while, hoping I could find a shelter, just something to hold me for the night. I refused to let my mind wander as I strode Bourbon.

An hour later found me freezing and extremely exhausted. A bank's board clock told me it was almost one in the morning, and I knew I wouldn't be able to just walk around in the dark for hours. I sighed, but looked for a place to crash. The bars all around were open kicking; they didn't seem to be closing anytime soon.

I found an empty alleyway with a restaurant across the street. No one could see me in it, I was sure, because it was so dark. It wasn't as grimy as most alleyways, but I definitely wasn't going to lay on the ground. People had probably pissed and shit in here. _Ugh._

I sat down in the far left corner, leaning my head against the cleanest part of the wall, and attempted sleep. It didn't come, just as I knew it wouldn't. Realization washed over me, and the tears hit soon after. I was homeless, I was alone. I'd lost my job, my boyfriend, and my home all in one night. All I had was the clothes on my back.

I sobbed uncontrollably, my chest heaving over and over. I couldn't even muster up the energy to wipe my tears. I put my forehead to my knees, wrapping my arms around myself.

I stayed like that for a long, long time, the images of Mike telling me I was fired and Jake in bed with another woman breaking my heart more every minute. My hair and the collar of my shirt were now soaked, and it made me impossibly more cold.

I was startled by a cold hand on my shoulder. I jumped and looked up into the face of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice like chime bells. She had long, beautiful golden blonde hair that reached below her ribs. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, but full of kindness. She wore a ton of makeup, making her look older than she probably was.

Trying not to stare through my blurry eyes, I looked away and answered her with honesty. "No, not exactly." I wiped the huge tears from my numb face and tried to stop shaking.

I looked back up at her, noticing her clothing, if you could even call it that. Her shirt was cut in half, revealing her whole flat stomach, and it was a deep V-neck. It was coupled with a tiny jean mini-skirt, short enough that I could almost see her crotch. Fishnet stockings coated her legs until they met the knee high boots with stiletto heels on her feet. She was extremely tall with them, probably five-foot-eleven, and I couldn't help but feel freaked out at first. The only thing that seemed to keep her from freezing was the beat up leather jacket over her little shirt.

"Where you live? You need a ride home?" she asked with a complete Cajun accent, ignoring the fact that I was gaping at her.

I thought about my answer for a second. Did I tell her the truth or fib a little to look less pathetic? I decided on the former. It didn't see like she would judge me, after all, considering her attire.

"Here…I guess…" I murmured, ignoring the latter part of her question. She frowned, and looked at me for a few seconds before looking back toward the road. She seemed to be contemplating something as she turned her eyes back to mine.

"You're a good looking girl," she stated. The way she said it was nonchalant, as if it were no big deal. She nodded to herself, pursing her lips. "Too pretty to not get noticed. Being alone only makes it worse." I stared up at her. What was she getting at?

"I can get you a place to stay, if you'd like. I mean, it's no Hilton, but it's certainly better than this," the woman said, gesturing to the dirty walls of the alley. Hope bloomed in my chest. It was very kind of her, but I wasn't sure. I looked her up and down again. She looked as if she could hurt me if she wanted to, but she didn't seem violent, and I really did not want to stay here all night. Maybe I could take her up on her offer. I could just stay and sleep one night, no big deal. Then after I was rested, I could think straight and decide on what I would do next. Making decisions in my state of mind now would be pointless. It was better to wait till morning.

"Um, okay. That sounds great. Thank you," I said, shakily sitting up to get on my feet. She offered me a hand, and I took it, standing up. She towered over me.

"My name's Rosalie, but everyone calls me Rose," she said, walking toward the street. I followed her. "But don't ever call me Rosie, kay? I hate that fucking name." I nodded, committing her name preference to memory. We walked the side of the street together, her chatting off. There was a van a little ways away, and she said that was where we were headed.

"What is your name, anyway?" Rose asked. I told her, and she nodded, not even looking at me. "Did someone throw you out? Does anyone know you're here on Bourbon?" she asked when we were about ten feet away from the large vehicle.

"No. I was distraught, and I ran. No one cares enough about me to come looking for me," I said lamely. I knew I sounded like I was pitying myself, but I found that I couldn't care less. Rosalie merely nodded, still not looking at me. She kept her eyes on the van the whole time. Her questions were automatic, but she didn't seem to care about my answers. It was the strangest thing.

When we finally reached the van, Rose opened the sliding back door. Two men were sitting there, and a woman was lying in the backseat, sleeping. It made me uneasy. The man farthest from me had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. The man closest to me was very built and handsome, though he looked a little rugged. He had very thick stubble, and I could smell the whiskey on him from three feet away. He took a long look at me before he looked at my new acquaintance and clapped his hands.

"Well, well, Rosie, baby! You sure hit the jackpot tonight! What have you brought ol' Royce this time? Or, should I say _who?_" the man bumbled out, looking back at me. I didn't like it, my instincts told me to run. But I was glued to the spot. Rose looked at me, the weirdest look upon her beautiful features. She looked…apologetic?

Then the look was gone, and she was looking at the man named Royce. "Name's Bella. No one knows she's here," Rose said in a bored voice. Royce and the man behind him leaned toward me. Uh-oh.

I felt my feet move before I even thought about running. I didn't get far, though, before strong arms took hold of me and held a napkin over my mouth. The man named Royce restrained me, ignoring my kicks and whimpers. I knew that if I breathed in whatever was in that napkin, I would go unconscious. It was inevitable, though, and I breathed in, taking in the drug as the men dragged me into the van.

"Wooo, pretty girl, you're going to make me some money!" Royce said. My mind was foggy and deep lethargy washed over me, no matter how hard I tried to avoid breathing into the napkin.

The last thing I saw before falling asleep was Rosalie's pained face, staring at me with a deep frown.

And all I could think was "_You bitch."_

This was officially the worst day of my life.

A/N: This story is inspired by true events that happened to an old friend of mine, but I don't want anyone to think I copied. The two stories are VERY different and I'm not stealing anything, seeing as this story is coming completely from my weird mind. Maybe toward the end I will tell you what happened to the woman I'm referring to.

Also, I live in New Orleans, and I chose this place because I didn't want to write about a place I knew nothing about. And Bourbon Street in this story is only slightly similar to the real Bourbon. Bella is there on a weekday, which is why there aren't as many people. She's also in the space between the "gay" part of Bourbon and the "straight" part, which is what people from round here call it (I think it's a bit mean, but that's just what they call it). From my experiences on Bourbon, there is a small part of the street in between the two that is always deserted.

Anyway, please review and tell me whether I should continue this or not. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

No Such Thing as Love

Chapter Two: Blondie, Bon-Bon, and Berry

Consciousness slowly crept back through me. My mind was numb and my eyelids were too heavy to lift, so I kept them shut. I tried moving my limbs, but my whole body just hurt at the thought. I felt like I was just waking from a very long sleep, but I couldn't understand why I felt so sore.

I forced my eyes open slowly, fighting the pain. It was pitch black wherever I was, so there was no point opening them to begin with; I closed them again to cease the stinging.

My mind was working incredibly slowly, and it took me a few minutes to remember what had happened to me. Mike, telling me I no longer had a job. Jacob, cheating right before my eyes. The blond woman, Rosalie. Then I remembered that I hated her. She had gotten me kidnapped; it was because of her I was even in this unknown position. The stupid bitch offered to help me, tricked me into trusting her. Now I was probably going to be sold on the black market. I winced at the thought.

I was surprised to find that I wasn't hysterical the moment my memories came back to me. Had I gotten so numb to the point that I almost didn't care? It could be possible-I had nothing left to lose now, so what was the point in caring or hoping?

All I had left was my pride, and that wasn't saying much.

I took in a deep breath, smelling around. Wherever I was, it smelled like cigarette smoke and old people. It wasn't pleasant, but at least I wasn't dead…yet. As hard as I tried, I couldn't make out anything with the intense darkness. I tried moving my arms again, and it hurt like hell, but nothing seemed to be wrong with them. There was a sharp stinging on the skin above my collarbone, and when I touched it, I felt a dried substance there, as if something had been caked onto my skin. I realized it was probably blood.

Feeling around me, there was a wall on both sides of my body, each about a foot away. I started to move my left knee, and for some strange reason, my right leg moved with it without me forcing it to. It was like they were attached. Moving my hands to feel around my legs, I felt that my knees were indeed tied together by something strong. My ankles were bound, too. Putting both hands on either side of the walls, I pulled myself up and hopped around silently, trying to find a door in this little, enclosed space.

Where am I? I thought. Had those men abused me and left me somewhere to die? Was I locked in here from the outside? Or had they stashed me somewhere to use later? My collarbone was the only thing that really stung. If I had been sexually violated, I would have known just from moving, and I was pleased to notice that there was no pain in any of my girly regions. My legs felt numb from being bound so tight, and standing up made them feel better and made me weak all at once. My foot caught on something on the floor, and I fell hard, face forward. My head hit a door on the way down, and I yelped in pain, unable to contain it.

I heard voices coming from somewhere outside.

"About time she wakes up," I heard one man growl. Then footsteps grew louder near me, and before I could cower back, a door in front of me opened and bathed me in light.

The man named Royce from the night before—or days before, whatever—stood before me, towering over my trembling form. I was in too much of a shock to do anything, and he smiled devilishly and grabbed a large handful of my hair.

"James!" he called. He grabbed my arms next and pulled me out of the place I had been stocked. Looking back at it, I realized it was a closet. I could smell beer on Royce, and hoped he wasn't drunk enough to the point of killing me. Or perhaps he would still kill me while sober…

The blond man came next out of a hall to my right. We were in a living room—I could tell it was a living room because of the two mismatching sofas and the bright but silent television next to the wall.

"Hold her," Royce barked to James. James followed his commands, taking my arms and holding me tight. I was speechless and still in a state of shock, unable to move. James didn't hold me as roughly as Royce did, but I knew there was still no chance of getting away from him. I followed Royce's movements with my eyes as he walked over to a desk and dug inside one of the drawers. He emerged with a familiar object and held it on front of my face.

"Is this your wallet?" he asked, smiling. I didn't answer him, and then he withdrew my driver's license, the only thing I'd had in it when they took me. "Isabella Marie Swan," he read aloud, examining my only ID. "Is this you?" He then held the license in front of me. I stared back at my smiling face in the picture. My hair was shorter then, and my face had been fuller, but there was no mistaking that it was me. Royce cackled in delight at my silence. He walked into a room behind the wall; I guessed it was the kitchen. With a long, sharp scissor, he returned.

"I noticed that you signed your name 'Bella Swan' instead of 'Isabella'. Don't you like your name?" he asked. I had no clue what he was getting at. I glared at him, hating him more every second. I was sure my heartbeat was giving away how frightened I was, though, since it was pounding so hard. "Bella, Bella, Bella…" Royce mimicked, laughing. Then he cut my license in half with the scissor. I gasped in horror. "Bye bye, Bella Swan," he continued.

I felt new tears stream down my face, hot and wet. "What do you want?" I rasped, my voice hoarse from lack of use. I didn't have any money to offer them for my release. The fact that they were letting me see who they were really scared me—it was a sign that I wouldn't escaping. They wouldn't let me go now that I knew what they looked like. They wouldn't want me to describe them to the police. This meant that either A, they were going to kill me, or B, they were very stupid criminals.

Royce laughed. "Well, if you haven't figured it out by now, you will soon," he said.

I was so confused, and my brain was working on high speed, trying to determine why the hell I was here. Were they going to rape me? No one would even notice I was missing now. I was no one.

Royce shook his head and spoke to James. "Take her back. May as well face it now, Izzy." James gripped my arms tighter and pulled me to my feet, cutting the tie-wrap around my knees and ankles. I swayed slightly, but caught myself. The last thing I wanted was to be dragged. _And perhaps_, I thought, _if I do what they ask me, I'll live._

James led me out of the living room and into the hall. Getting in front of me, he reached for the giant wooden door at the end of the hall. There were locks and bolts, at least five of them locking the door. James unlocked all of them and pulled it open. My heart shot up into my throat. Were they going to lock me in here?

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice shaking. James looked back at me. His features were calm, indifferent and uncaring. He simply started to push me into the room. I protested and tried to run again, afraid he would leave me in the room to die. Angered by my disobedience, James's expression turned to one of terrifying hatred. He roughly shoved me into the room and slammed the door. It was pitch black in the space, and I grew more anxious.

How long until one of them took me out? Would they even feed me? I had certainly lost my appetite, but I knew I would need to eat sometime. What if—

My thoughts were interrupted by a light that suddenly turned on. I whipped around and finally got to see what actually occupied the room. A girl was sitting up in bed next to the lamp, rubbing her eyes. She looked to be my age, if not a little younger. I looked around the room and saw three other girls sleeping.

"Hey," the awakened girl said. "You must be the new girl." She got up slowly and walked toward me, clad only in a red panty and bra set. I didn't know what to say, so I just stood there silently. When she was just a foot away from me, she stopped and looked me up and down. "You're tall," she conceded. The girl was very short—about five feet tall.

"Who are you?" I spoke up. She smiled, and I noticed she had many rotten teeth. I fought the urge to flinch.

"Katie. And that is Carmen," she pointed towards the girls still in bed, "Angela, and Veronica. Your bed is next to mine, right there," she said, then pointing at an empty bed on the other side of the lamp.

_My bed?_ I thought. "What do you mean, my bed?" I asked Katie. She talked like she knew I was coming.

She looked at me as if I were crazy. "Um, what all did Royce tell you?"

"Not much." I rubbed my head. Had this girl been kidnapped also? Was this some sort of…sex slave business? It made me think of the movie _Taken._ The possibility freaked me out. "They knocked me out last night—I think it was last night—and I woke up in a closet earlier. Were you kidnapped too?" I asked. Katie's eyes widened and shot over to the girl she'd called Angela before looking back at me.

"No. I've been with James and Royce almost a year now. And the others have been with them even longer."

"You're here _voluntarily?_" I nearly yelled. She shushed me, clamping a hand over my mouth. "What the hell is going on here? Why was I taken?" I mumbled through her fingers.

"Shut up! Believe me, you don't want to wake the other girls. They wouldn't hesitate to kick your ass!" She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the vacant bed. She pushed me down to sit, still holding my mouth.

"Look," Katie continued, "if you promise to stay quiet and fall asleep now, I'll promise to explain everything to you in the morning. Got it?" I nodded quickly just to get her hand off me.

Before she could walk away, I whispered, "How do I know no one's going to kill me in my sleep?"

She sighed. "The only way someone would kill you would be if you ratted them out to anyone. You'd be surprised if you knew how much James and Royce depend on us girls." I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, especially since I had trusted Rosalie the night before and that had obviously been a huge mistake. But I didn't have much choice. Even if Katie was lying, there was still very little chance I was escaping from this room; there wasn't even a window.

"What do they do that could be ratted out?" I wondered out loud.

"Tomorrow," Katie hissed again. She went back to her own bed and turned out the light, leaving us in darkness once more.

My body was exhausted, but my mind was wide awake. I curled into a ball on my side and tried to sleep. However, all that would come was tears.

I eventually fell asleep sometime later, but it wasn't long—maybe two hours—before someone woke me.

"Hey. Wake up. It's time for breakfast." Katie was shaking me.

"Breakfast?" I mumbled. I opened my eyes quickly and scanned the room. The other girls were up, one eating in bed, the others just sitting and talking.

The girl named Angela was sitting in the floor next to Katie, looking up at me in wonder.

"Hi, Bella. I'm Angela," she said. I sat up slowly.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Two," Katie answered.

"Two?" I said incredulously.

"What are you? A recording machine?" Katie said. "Yes, it's two. And since breakfast is the first meal of the day, that is what we are having, and today it's cereal. Do you want Frosted Flake or Cheerios?" I looked over to Angela, who was staring down at the floor.

"You told me you would give me answers today," I said to Katie. I really wanted to know why I was here, and I wanted to know _now._ I wasn't even sure my stomach could handle food now.

"Cheerios it is, then," she said, getting up.

"I was kidnapped, too," I heard Angela murmur, still avoiding my gaze.

"You were?" I asked. She looked up at me finally and nodded her head slowly.

"Yeah. Six months ago." She stopped and lowered her voice to a whisper, "Everyone else here, though, they joined of their own free will." She looked around nervously and shut up when she saw Katie bringing me a bowl of cereal. She sat down next to me and handed me the bowl.

"You eat. I'll talk," Katie demanded, and even though my appetite was shot to shit, I took a bite. I noticed some of the other girls looking at me curiously. When Katie was satisfied that I listened to her, she started talking.

"It all started with Royce. He and James were best buds in school, and when they got older they opened a bar here in New Orleans. This was about four years ago, I think. Anyway…girls started hanging out in front of the bar, you know, trying to get a little cash since the place was hoppin—"

"You mean like prostitutes?" I interrupted. She looked at me as if I were stupid.

"Yeah, like hookers. Back to what I was saying—so Royce decides one night that since the girls were making money from his customers and they were selling on his property, he deserved some of the profit." I gasped, but I was so engrossed in the story now that I didn't interrupt her. She lowered her voice and continued.

"You remember Rosalie? I'm sure you met her," Katie asked me quietly. I nodded—she was the bitch who tricked me into this mess. "Yeah, well, she didn't always belong to Royce. She worked the corner on her own for a while. Royce wanted to try out buying a girl once before trying to get into the whole 'business'. She was the first one Royce paid for, and I think she's actually the only one."

"So…how did all this come to fruition?" I asked, gesturing to the other girls.

"Well, Royce had to pay Rosalie a pretty penny, and when he realized just how much money prostitutes can make every night, it only made him want this lifestyle more. Royce became Rose's first pimp, and he made sure every man he offered Rose to had the money and kept his word about returning her the next morning. He does the same with all of us. None of Royce's girls have ever been seriously hurt while with a customer, and we get fifty percent of the money we earn each night and a place to sleep during the day." She paused for a moment, thinking. "I know you probably think that we're crazy for willingly selling our bodies, but this was the best way for me and the rest of us. Royce and James have collected all of us over the years and managed to keep everything secret."

She was right; I thought they were all insane. I wanted to ask her why the hell she didn't just get a job like a normal person, but I didn't want to anger her or the others. If they thought I was going to go along with this and participate in their endeavors, then they were seriously mistaken.

"So where is Rosalie, anyway?" I asked trying to change the subject. "Doesn't she sleep here with you guys?" The girl named Carmen heard me and scoffed. She walked closer and sat down. She was prettier than the others with her square jawline and long blond hair. Her teeth were a lot cleaner than Katie's, even though they were crooked as hell. She wore a very revealing lime green nightgown. She had an upturned nose and looked at me with an icy glare.

"Rosalie is Royce's play thing. She never sleeps here because she's always in Royce's bed. I'm surprised she actually works with us. I bet Royce gives her more money than us," Carmen said. She walked to her bed and opened a drawer of the dresser beside it, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She lit up and started puffing.

The last girl to say anything to me was Veronica. "Katie said Royce and James took you by force. Is that true?" I looked up at her for the first time. She was very tall—about 5'10". Her hair was dark and curly, reaching to her waist. Her skin was tan and she wore a red pajama that was more modest than the other girls' current attire. She looked…normal—not beautiful, but not ugly, either. This wasn't what made me stare at her, however; it was the large bulge in her midsection that captured my attention.

I freaked out all over again. _Oh, my God, I am so screwed. What is going to happen to me?_

"Snap out of it. You act like you've never seen a pregnant woman before," Veronica sneered. "I asked you a question."

"Yes," I answered quickly, "I was just minding my own business when Rosalie tricked me into following her." Veronica laughed through her nose and walked away from us.

"It's been a while since we got someone new. The last one before you was Angela," Katie said.

"I wonder what they'll name you," Lauren said.

"Name?" I asked, confused.

"They're going to give you a new name," Katie explained. "A street name."

"My street name is Candy," Katie said. Oh, Candy, how original.

"Blondie," Lauren said, pointing at herself and shrugging. She knew it was stupid, but she didn't care. "Veronica's name is Bon-Bon, and Angela's is Berry."

"It's dumb," Katie said, "but it's better than having crazy, horny old men know your real name."

She was right, I guessed. It was best for them to keep their identities to themselves.

"So what about me?" I asked to no one and everyone. "Does Royce plan on making me…prostitute with you guys?" I knew the answer already, and my momentary calmness started to fade.

"Yes, dumbass. Weren't you listening?" Veronica sneered. I looked down at my knees, trying to think of something…anything.

"It's not _that_ bad. I mean, it's just sex," Katie said.

Carmen laughed and said, "Tell that to Veronica!" I knew she was referring to Veronica's pregnancy.

"Hey, you shut the fuck up, bitch!" Veronica retorted. Carmen merely smiled, satisfied that she'd managed to ruffle the pregnant woman's feathers. I paid no attention to their spittle; I was too wrapped up in what Katie said.

Just sex? Just sex! Was she crazy? I'd always seen sex as something special, and in my opinion, each time you had sex with someone, you gave a piece of your soul to that person. Having sex with Jake wasn't as special as I had hoped it would be, but it was never _just _sex.

I kept my mouth shut, though, keeping my opinions to myself.

"Is there any way out of this? I didn't exactly sign up to sell my body on the street."

"You wanna know what happened when the last girl tried to run?" Veronica said.

"Don't," Carmen hissed. I wondered if Veronica was only pulling my leg or if someone really had tried to escape and been punished for it.

Veronica listened to her, finishing with, "But really, don't try it. The only way for you to get out of here is for Royce to let you go." I looked around at all of them. Angela was the only other girl here by force, and I wondered if she had ever tried to escape.

"There's just one thing I don't get," Carmen said. "Bella's the second girl Royce kidnaps. Why not just get another hooker, one who _wants _to be here?"

Katie leaned against the wall and answered her question. "He needs the money. And the prettier the girl, the more money per night. None of the bitches around here that are willing would make even half as much her." She nodded toward me and smirked, expecting me to be flattered, I guess. "And he needed to get someone now that…" she trailed off, never finishing her sentence.

I wanted to heave the few bites of cereal I'd had. This information was too much at once. There was still hope in my mind, however, and I had no intention of giving up. I looked over at Angela, still wondering if she had ever tried to escape. Had she tried and failed or was she too afraid to try at all? I looked at the other three, contemplating whether they would help me or not. I was leaning more towards the not because they wouldn't want Royce or James to find out they'd helped me and have to suffer the consequences.

Royce seemed like the alpha wolf, the one in charge around here. James was like his right hand man, the sidekick who does whatever the boss says. That meant he wouldn't likely be swayed, and if what the girls said was true, Royce wasn't letting me go anytime soon.

If Royce owned a whole bar, then why did he even want all of this? Surely he made lots of money! Katie said he needed money…for what? I wondered.

In the back of my head, a voice was screaming that they just couldn't do this, that it was illegal. But here I was, sitting on a cheap single bed with four prostitutes who were discussing how much they hated Rosalie.

"I know what you're thinking," Angela interrupted my inner monologue, "and it's not going to work."

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

She sighed and looked down at the filthy carpet before sitting next to me on the bed. "When I first got here, I thought I could escape…get away easily. My first chance came the first night Royce had me on the street…" she shuddered, remembering something I could not even begin to imagine. "A guy named Bill paid for me, and I had come back to the house to 'get ready'." Angela nodded toward Carmen. "Carmen caught me around midnight, trying to get out through the hall bathroom window. She called James, and I would have escaped had it not been for her. That night wasn't pretty, probably one of my worse."

My heart went out to her, and she had answered my unasked question—these girls were most certainly not going to help me.

"D-did you still…have to…" I trailed off, not sure whether I should ask such a horrible question.

Angela got what I meant and nodded, confirming my fear. "Yeah. I still had to have sex with Bill. He was old and smelled like cheese, and once he decided he was finished with me hours later, I had to sleep on the floor in his bathroom. He wouldn't let me come back here in case he woke up later and wanted more," she explained. I felt tears run down my face, partly because I felt bad for Angela and partly because I knew that would be me soon if I didn't manage to escape in time.

"That was my virginity he paid for," Angela said. "I held it in, though, and just cried all the next day." I shook my head in horror.

"How did Royce and James collect you?" I asked.

"Well, I'm from Shreveport, see? I grew up there with my parents. My dad is a minister, and for the last few years, we didn't see eye to eye. When I was a junior in high school, I told him a secret I'd been hiding for a long, long time. 'I'm atheist, Dad,' I'd said. I was sorry for not following him, but I just don't believe in God, and he was signing me up for Confirmation. He told me I was damned, and the next year was horrible living there. He even packed my bags for me on my eighteenth birthday, and I was off. I hadn't even finished school.

"I had a cousin who lived here; she offered to let me stay with her. She was no angel, though. All her money went to drugs, and eventually we were evicted and on the streets. We stayed in shelters for a few days, and then we got into a bad argument and separated. That was the night they took me."

"Oh, Angela," I said.

She shook her head. "They all think it's the greatest thing, having sex for money. And what do they spend the little money they make on? Drugs, that's what! They don't even try to get out of here!" she whisper yelled so that the others wouldn't hear. "Either they're brainwashed or just crazy. And they think Royce is so great and takes care of them! Ha! I wish Royce would get caught…or killed. Either would be welcomed right now."

I did eventually start throwing up my guts. Whether it was from dehydration or stress, I wasn't sure. Angela was the only one who helped me, sweeping back my hair and fetching a garbage can and bottle of water. There was a tiny television in the room that Veronica and Carmen watched. A mini fridge stood next to Veronica's bed, with a toaster oven above it. There was a door that led to a small bathroom, too.

The rest of the day was just as strange as when I woke in the closet. The girls watched a marathon of America's Next Top Model reruns while I lay in my bed and cried. I expected one of the men to come in and talk to the girls…or at least bring them something.

Time passed slowly, and I still hoped I would wake up and discover that this had all been a nightmare. I would wake up next to a happy, non-cheating Jacob who would rub my back and assure me it had all been a horrible, disastrous dream.

That thought only made me cry more. I fell asleep shortly after, my body shutting down. Angela woke me hours later.

"Hey, Bella. I just wanted to tell you we're leaving for the night. Royce said you won't have to start yet, so you have to stay here tonight. Are you feeling any better?"

In a way I was sort of thankful that I wasn't going to be "working" tonight, but I still hated Royce. I looked Angela up and down, noticing her skimpy corset and garter belt. More to the left I saw the digital clock on the microwave read 11:03. I had been asleep for four hours. To answer Angela's question, I merely gave her a look that said "as if". She looked back at me sadly and touched my shoulder.

"It's going to be okay," she said, knowing I didn't believe her. "Just get some rest. I don't think Royce is going to be as lenient tomorrow night."

My stomach dropped and my eyes threatened to tear up as she walked away. They all left out the door, and I briefly got a glimpse at James as he closed the door behind them. The loud _click _of him locking the door echoed in the room. I dropped back in bed and fell back into a fitful sleep.

When I woke again, it was three in the morning and there was only one other girl in the room. Veronica lay sleeping in her bed, snoring like a lawn mower. I wondered how far along she was in her pregnancy, and a small part of me pitied her. She was such a bitch, though, and that made it hard to feel one bit sorry for her.

I was totally and completely awake now that I'd slept so long. My stomach growled, and deciding I could probably hold something down now, I got up and searched the fridge. I fixed myself a bowl of cereal and ate silently, too scared of waking Veronica to turn on the television.

The other girls got back later; Katie came first at nine, then Angela at ten, and Carmen a few minutes after that. Carmen and Katie crashed in their beds and Angela stayed talk to me a while before going to bed herself.

The girls slept until almost four in the afternoon, all except Veronica, who woke up at twelve and completely ignored me for hours. I stayed lost in my thoughts, a very dangerous place at the moment.

That night was the same routine. Royce didn't make me do anything; I didn't even see him. I did see James, though, and he said to me, "Royce said you'll have to join them tomorrow night." That was it and nothing more. I felt my tears start to spring up, but I held them back. When the girls left I tried not to think about it. I put on the television and watched Law and Order reruns, not really seeing the screen. I stayed awake, anxious to see who returned first tonight.

It was Veronica who came back first again. James let her in before locking it back. She was cursing up a storm, extremely pissed off. Her belly took up most of her body and made her skimpy, cheap lingerie not-so-sexy. She gave me a look before sitting on her bed and grabbing an ashtray. I watched in mute horror as she lit a cigarette and took long drags. When it was all gone, she lit another one.

I couldn't stop staring, thinking of the innocent child in her body that she was putting in danger. Something told me she did this often because of the stale smoke smell that coated the air in the room all the time. She finally noticed me staring and started bitching.

"The fuck you lookin' at? You got a problem?"

"No," I said, looking back at the TV. "No problem."

A/N: Sorry this took a while…I've been pretty busy. VOODOO was awesome, especially Florence and the Machine. Also, isn't it crazy that Breaking Dawn is getting filmed in Baton Rouge? Robert Pattinson is only an hour away from me! I can almost feel his presence! I might go try to get a few glimpses once they start filming. They started doing makeup tests and stuff this month, I think.

Anyway, this chapter was a little slow. Things will start picking up next chapter. I just wanted everyone to get a feel for the other girls. Next chapter may contain rape. I don't know how detailed I will be, I'll see how it goes. Things like that don't bother me, so I'm leaning towards more detailed. Please review; tell me if this is any good. :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This gets graphic, guys. That's why it took me so long. I had to grow some balls, and I had to get in the mindset that "none of this is real". There is also rape at the very end. I will star it off for those of you not comfortable reading it. You have been warned.

I don't own Twilight.

* * *

No Such Thing as Love

Chapter Three

CoCo Catastrophe

I thought back to Jacob Black and his slutty whore bag, thinking about how different things would be had I just calmed down and thought things through before blowing up. I was 95% sure he was now sterile from my stunt, and I felt no pang of regret for that, but I still wished I had at least waited. Actually, I wished I had not been fired at all, and then I would have gotten off at the right time and wouldn't have caught Jake fucking another woman. I would have gone to bed happy that night, ignorant of Jacob's earlier scandal. And I would not be currently changing into the sluttiest piece of lingerie I had ever seen. It was a dark pink garter belt with underwear that covered half my ass cheeks—at least it wasn't a thong—and a push up bra that was one size too big. I could tell the whole getup was cheap and used; one of the bows had been torn off and the bra was stained in a few places. The other girls had on similar attire, just different colors. Veronica's was the most modest, though, but her one piece didn't hide her belly well. It only made her look pudgy.

It was to be my first night on the street with the girls, and I cried for a whole hour after James came into our room and announced it. My eyes were still puffy and red, and Angela was comforting me as best as she could.

"Cry baby," Veronica muttered, passing by us.

"Don't mind her," Angela said, brushing my hair out. "Royce is going to ask you how many men you've slept with," she continued softly.

I waited a few seconds before answering the question I knew she didn't want to ask.

"One man. That's it." My voice still shook.

"Tell him the truth. I told him I was a virgin and he doubled the price on my head that night, knowing more men would want me. He even checked me to make sure and everything," Angela said.

"How awful is it, Angela?" My eyes met hers in the mirror we were both facing. She grimaced and looked back to my hair before answering.

"The first time is the worst. After that…after Bill…I don't want to say it gets easier because that would be a lie…but you grow numb to it. Learn to ignore what's going on for a few moments…or hours." I shuddered.

"I figured men would want someone more experienced—get their money's worth," I said.

"It depends, really. Depends on the guy. We get a lot of college students, buying one of us as a dare for the night. They don't care who they get. Some men want a virgin…and they'll pay extra for it. Some men want to pay for experience—that's Carmen's forte, just so you know. Some men don't care; they just like the idea of being in control. And some just want a pretty face…they like to feel wanted by a beautiful woman for a night." Her voice turned sad at the end, and I wanted to question why, but instead I said,

"It's still wrong."

"I know. I don't think it makes a man evil, though. Not in all cases…" The topic was closed, I could tell in her tone, so I took the brush from her and set it down before walking to the bathroom.

A few minutes before we were supposed to leave, Royce—who I had not seen since the first day—pulled me aside and did just what Angela said. He looked at me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on my chest the whole time he talked to me. I wanted to vomit all over his blue tee-shirt. Maybe on his face, too.

"How many men have you been with?" he asked. I folded my arms across my breasts in an attempt to conceal them.

"Um, one. Just one," I said. I looked at his neck, unable to keep eye contact. As much as I hated him, he frightened me.

"Really? That's too bad. I made so much money off little Angie's cherry, I was hoping you'd be the same." He lifted a hand to my face and trailed his fingers under my jaw. I smelled tobacco and tried not to make a face. "Been a long time since I popped one myself. Maybe I'd have saved it for me instead." He laughed at his own sick joke. I wanted to rip his hand from my face and hit him with it. "What? Don't you find me funny?"

"You're hilarious," I said sarcastically, my anger overriding my fear for a moment. He just laughed, though, and said I needed a name. After short consideration, he decided on the name CoCo and sent me back in with the others. I felt like a child's stuffed animal, but I had to admit it was better than Candy or Bon Bon.

Later, James and Royce started to pile us into the van. Royce apparently had his own car and the van was James's, as was the house. The room we stayed in had been added on so it would not have windows. The blond traitor, Rosalie, must have ridden with Royce to the house. It was the first time I had seen her since I had been taken, and the moment I walked outside and saw her beautiful face, I wanted nothing more than to rip it from her undeserving head. She looked at me, her expression passive, and then looked away, as if I wasn't even there. Bitch.

I looked around the street, trying to figure out where the hell this place was. I didn't recognize it. We probably weren't even in New Orleans anymore, maybe on the outskirts, Metairie, perhaps. I didn't know my way around one bit. Jake and I had an apartment in a quieter part of the city, and I barely ever went anywhere to discover. The houses and apartment buildings had been moderately spaced out; here, the houses were more spread over. It was by no means a nice neighborhood, but it wasn't a dump, either. I assumed we were going back to Bourbon Street, where Rose had found me. I briefly considered running to one of the neighbor's houses and begging for help; I doubted I could outrun both James and Royce. Angela saw me looking and shook her head in warning.

"Ahhh, Fridays," Carmen said, stretching out before getting into the back of the van, the same one that I had been forced into nights ago. "You know why I love Fridays, Bella?"

"Why, Carmen?" I asked in a tired voice. I was sick of her and Veronica teasing me constantly.

"Well, I'll tell you why, it's 'cause I get Reggie tonight," she said. Veronica got in next, rolling her eyes.

"He doesn't even need to pay you anymore with how you always want him back," she said.

"As if, Veronica. I don't fuck for free." I looked to Angela for an explanation.

"Reggie is a guy who comes every Friday just for Carmen. It's been like that for two months," Angela said. "He's become a regular."

"And you…enjoy him?" I asked Carmen. She giggled.

"Yep. I dunno why he pays me, though. He got a big one, see? Seems to me girls should be fighting over that thing. Oh well, I ain't complaining."

"Yeah, not until he gets sick of you," Veronica piped in. "Bet you'll complain then."

"Shut up, you pregnant cow."

"Make me, whore," Veronica spat, almost getting out of the van. I watched, wide-eyed.

"Girls!" Royce roared. "The neighbors!"

"Sorry," Carmen muttered. They took their seats again and the rest of us followed suit. Royce locked his sports car in the driveway and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. We all sat on the floor because the back seats had been removed. When the car started up and moved forward, my heart shot into my throat as I remembered what I would have to do tonight. I felt sick.

I looked up at the back of Royce's head, wishing I had a hammer or something to bash it in. Then I looked to James. He had been extremely quiet throughout the whole exchange, and I saw his face in the rearview mirror. He had been already looking in the mirror, right at me, his green eyes piercing me. When our eyes met, he instantly looked away, but I kept staring at his face.

He was really quite handsome, something I hadn't paid attention to before. He had a nice bone structure and his eyebrows were full and masculine. His face was harsh, however, and it made him look cold, but not as cold as Royce. It was just another reminder of who was boss. His skin was pale, and the dark shadows lying beneath his eyes made him look older and tired. He seemed to have a few gray hairs lining around his face, disappearing into the blond, but there were no wrinkles or age spots to accompany them. I knew what premature gray hairs meant, for I had them when Charlie died: stress.

But for what could this man be distressed? With the way he treated us girls alongside Royce, he was obviously not a human being. Whatever it was that caused his pallid appearance was of no concern to me, I decided. _Why should I care about my captor's happiness?_

We soon arrived at a small building with a neon sign that read WRYDER'S. Katie reached behind her and pulled six similar coats into her lap before handing them out to us. The girls quickly started covering up their flashy outfits, and I gladly followed suit. The coat reached me mid-thigh, and it was unbelievably itchy. November here was not cold, but the air did get chilly when the sun went down; I hoped I would get to keep the coat. Royce threw a pack of cigarettes to Carmen and exited, opening the back door for us. James got out, too, but went straight inside. I guessed this was Royce's bar. I had not come near here the other night, but I knew it was around the French Quarter from the smell and the look of all the buildings. Wryder's was right on a corner, and I couldn't help but think of how appropriate _that _was. I took a step onto the pavement, remembering the last time I'd been here, still a free woman. A hurt and crazy woman, but a free one nonetheless.

The next second all the breath rushed from my lungs as I was pushed against the van. Royce had a hand planted below my throat, not squeezing but still hurting me. I didn't struggle and simply looked up at him.

"If you embarrass me tonight, you will be sorry. Don't forget that," he said threateningly.

I nodded, not knowing what else to do. He let me go and walked through the door to the bar. I breathed slowly in and out, touching my hair nervously. I could feel the other girls looking at me.

We all walked into the bar, and I followed Rosalie, Veronica, Angela, Carmen, and Katie into a back room which I assumed was Royce's office. I didn't understand what we were doing here, but Royce came in with shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"Don't drink it all, for God's sake," he said before leaving again.

Every one of them took a shot, even Angela. When I tried to refuse the next round, Angela leaned into my ear. "You're going to want that. You'll feel less and if you're lucky, you'll remember less, too." She was right, and I did the next round with them, and the next five after that. It was disgusting, and certainly foreign to my body.

"Do you do this every night?" I asked.

"Yep," Katie replied. "I told you Royce was great. Free alcohol!" My eyes caught the empty shot glass in Veronica's hand, and I couldn't help but look at her midsection, seeing what was supposed to be hidden. My heart broke for her unborn baby. She caught my line of sight and glared at me.

I definitely started to feel the effects of the whiskey once we got up and left the bar. The men sitting down cat called at us. Carmen waved to them, blowing kisses. I noticed the van was gone when we got onto the pavement.

"Okay, where we going tonight, girls?" Katie asked.

_Can I run now?_ Royce wasn't in sight, and I had no idea where James was. As the other girls took off their coats, I surveyed the street. I could hear yelling coming from Bourbon Street, but this part was not really occupied. There were couples walking around, but not many men alone. If I took off my pumps, I could run faster, and I could get away. Where I would go, I had no idea, but anywhere was better than here.

Angela started tugging on my coat, trying to ease it off of me. "Look over there," she whispered into my ear, pointing her chin down the street. I listened to her and tried to see what she was talking about. The large white van was farther down the street, and I could just make out a slight form sitting in the driver's seat; James was watching us.

"Shit," I said.

"Oh, CoCo, you didn't think they'd actually leave you alone for a few hours, did you?" Carmen mocked. "You're not getting away. I am not going to jail because your little bitch ass doesn't want to give it up."

"Carmen, I wouldn't tell anyone if they let me go now before I'm forced to do anything." I spoke the truth; I _wouldn't _tell.

"Forced!" Veronica cackled. "Pussy." I rolled my eyes at them and took off my coat. The cool air hit my skin and I broke out in goose bumps.

"I say we hit the other corner," Katie said. "The cops'll probably come around here soon. Let's just go to Jerry's for a while that way Reggie will still be able to find you," she continued, talking to Carmen.

We put on our coats again and walked on for about twenty minutes before finding Jerry's. It was a gentlemen's club, and we were apparently allowed to hang out in the doorway, able to hide from police but still put ourselves out there. I saw more prostitutes on the way, dressed worse than any of us. They desperately needed baths. I suddenly understood why Katie would say that Royce was good to them. He definitely wasn't an angel, and I still completely hated him, but looking at the other hookers made me realize he was probably the nicest pimp around here; at least he took care of the girls he had.

Sure enough, only ten minutes later a burly and tatted up man came by in an old car and called for Carmen. She ran to the passenger window, but they were close enough that I could hear their voices from the doorway.

"Just hop in. I already stopped by and paid Royce," I heard Reggie say. Carmen giggled and got into the car, waving to us as they drove away. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest, and I felt dizzy. I didn't want to turn into someone like her.

Rosalie was the next girl to be picked. He was young, shorter than her, pimply, and pretty intoxicated. We had moved back towards Wryder's so that deals could be made easily. I learned that money had to be paid in full before the night began, that way Royce could get a feel for the type of person who was taking one of his girls and so that there would be no free floozy.

Katie was taken next by one of her regulars, and then it was just Veronica, Angela, and me. Veronica kept adding lipstick and fluffing her hair, desperately trying to get someone to notice her. With the way we were dressed, there was no mistaking what we were. One guy actually came by and wanted me, but when Royce took him inside and threw him out shortly later, cursing up a storm, I felt relieved. "Fifty bucks, my ass," Royce muttered as he walked back into the bar.

I looked at Angela, unshed tears in my eyes from the thought that I could have just been _sold_, and there was nothing I could have done about it. She just shrugged at me sadly.

"Look on the bright side. You're worth more than fifty bucks?" she said it like a question. I laughed at her attempt to cheer me up.

It was nearing one in the morning when someone decided to buy Angela. He was missing his two front teeth and had a bizarre tan line on his face. I started freaking out when I realized my only friend was about to leave me in this crazy predicament.

She noticed my shaking, and grabbed my hands. "Hey, look at me." I raised my eyes to her face. She was being very serious, but she had a small smile.

"Do as they say, Bella. Please, listen to me. If you don't, everything will become so much worse. Just don't think about it. You don't have to pretend to enjoy it; you just have to pretend not to hate it. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered. I trusted her.

"I'll see you later."

"Bye," I said as she joined the man.

"Guess it's just you and me now, CoCo," Veronica snickered. She was angry, and I was beginning to understand why.

No one wanted to buy a pregnant woman. She was jealous of the others, and probably worried that she wouldn't make enough money to stay with Royce. I considered that thought briefly—if Royce made no money off of me, then he would have to let me go. Or would he just get rid of me? He was so sure that I would tell on him if I was released, so he would probably just kill me. I tried to direct my thoughts elsewhere.

Lots of people passed by us, took one look, and walked faster. They knew what we were, and it made my heart ache to realize what they must think of me. I was never one to really care what others thought, but I knew what I'd be thinking about a prostitute on Bourbon Street, and it certainly wasn't pity. Some men cat called, but most either made fun of us or stared. A middle aged man even came by and stood on the other side of the street, simply staring at us. He had been there a good fifteen minutes when Veronica finally said something.

"Neal, you gonna stand there all night or you gonna come here and have fun?" she yelled at the man. Apparently she knew him.

"No, I'm just trying to decide which one of you I want," he called back. Veronica rolled her eyes, and my stomach dropped. The man lit a cigarette and walked over. Veronica sauntered over to him and caressed his chest.

"Just take me, baby. She's new, she don't know nothing," she said to him, her hand wandering to his jeans. _Yes! Take her!_ I thought.

"Oh, well, that don't mean she can't learn," he said. "What's your name, beautiful?" he asked me. I stayed silent, looking down. He was wearing a tee shirt with a naked woman on it, and he had a few Mardi Gras beads around his neck. His jeans were a bit ripped, but they looked to be clean. He was a bigger man, round in the middle, and he had man boobs. Ugh.

"Oh, a shy one, huh?" He grabbed my face and made me look at him. He smiled, and I noticed the heavy stubble coating his chin and smelled beer on his breath.

I closed my eyes and tried to get out of his grip. He merely chuckled and let me go before walking into Wryder's. Royce came out a few minutes later and pulled me aside. Veronica groaned.

"You're going to go with Neal tonight," he told me. He gripped the tops of my arms hard again in warning. "Remember what I said, girl." And with that, he passed me on to Neal, who wrapped an arm around my waist and let me down the street to his car. I heard Veronica yell in frustration.

I went numb, like Angela told me to do. I barely noticed the loud music playing outside, the screaming, and the women lifting their shirts to men on balconies, trying to get beads. I sat in the passenger seat of his car, quiet. He didn't talk to me on the ride there. I didn't even pay attention to where we were going. I just looked out the window and tried not to think.

The next time he spoke, he was pushing me down onto a queen sized bed. I didn't look at him—I couldn't. My heart was hammering against my chest.

"Take off my clothes," Neal said. I sat up and took off his shirt first, struggling to do so with the beads in the way. I started to take them off, but he stopped me angrily.

"Did I tell you to take them off? Leave 'em. I want to see them on your skin when I fuck you. I want to be reminded where you came from."

_I am not here right now. I am back home in Forks and I am sitting on my sofa next to my dad, watching a football game and stuffing my face with extra buttery popcorn._

"You're such a dirty little whore, aren't you?" He ripped off my top, and my mantra wavered. I could feel tears building up and desperately tried to hide them. I thought about what Angela had said, about everything becoming so much worse.

Then he pulled off his jeans and ordered me to suck. I looked up at his face, trying to plead without words. He raised his eyebrows. "If you don't, I will get Royce, and things won't be pretty."

So I did. Oral sex wasn't something Jacob and I did often. Neither of us particularly enjoyed it, so we agreed just plain sex was fine. I didn't really know what to do. I supposed it was to come instinctually, but how was something to just come to you when you absolutely had no desire to do it? I tried the best I could, and he tasted disgusting, like he would have come in his pants already and hadn't bathed since. He got fed up with my poor skills and decided to skip straight to the sex. I laid back and opened my legs slightly, shaking out of my wits. My ass was on the edge of the bed, naked. He was standing, putting on a condom.

He put his hands around my thighs, digging his nails into my skin. I gasped in pain and swatted his hands away. He laughed and held my hands down, putting himself at my entrance.

When I felt him there, I completely lost it. Angela's words be damned, I would not do this.

I leapt from the bed, accidentally kneeing him on his nose. "I can't do this! I don't want to sell my body! Please take me somewhere. A shelter, a police station, anywhere. Or just let me go," I pled.

"AHH, you fucking bitch!" He was grasping his nose, which was bleeding a fountain. I saw my chance and grabbed my clothes, running to the door.

He grabbed me around the waist before I could get to it, though, and I struggled. The next thing I felt was a hit to my head, and I was out.

What felt like ages later, I woke up in the passenger seat of Neal's car. The door was open, and he was standing out, looking down at me angrily. I looked down at myself. He must have put my clothes back on and tied me up. I couldn't move.

"I'll let Royce deal with you once I get my two hundred back," he snarled. He cut the cords around my ankles and dragged me out of the car. We were back at Wryder's, and he dragged me all the way into Royce's office.

"What's going on?" Royce demanded upon seeing me.

"Your new little toy does not cooperate. Look what she did to my nose," Neal said, pointing at his face. Royce looked at him and then looked at me. I could feel the anger radiating off him, but he did not show it on his face. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two hundreds.

"Here. Don't tell anyone what she did to you," Royce said to him, handing him the money. "I don't need anyone thinking I've gone soft on my possessions and allow them to harm my customers."

"Don't you think I deserve more than this? I mean, she did break my nose," Neal said, trying to get more money out of Royce.

Royce turned on him angrily. "Okay, okay, I was just asking," Neal said, backing out of the office and leaving Royce and me alone.

He took one long look at me before cutting the cords around my wrists. He called James to come and watch the bar for him while he went home and 'took care of something'. He gave me the coat I had been wearing earlier and ordered me to put it on until we got into the van.

It was six in the morning when we got back to the house. Royce dragged me into the kitchen and pushed me into the table. My hip hit the corner and I screamed in pain.

"Do you think you are funny?" He yelled in my face suddenly. "How dare you think for even a second that you have any power, any right to challenge me. If it wasn't for me, you would be homeless right now. I took you off the streets. You should be at my feet, thanking me!"

"Thank YOU?" I burst out. "You _took _me! I am my own person. I am not your PROPERTY!" I yelled the last word in his face, and he slapped me. I keeled over, grasping my left cheek. He picked me back up on my feet and turned me around, bending me over the table.

"So you can't knee me," he explained. NO!

***** I screamed out, but he put his hand over my mouth, muffling it. I tried to bite his hand, but he flattened it, only letting me get a bit of skin, not enough to hurt him.

He pulled down my lingerie bottoms and his own jeans.

"This'll teach you," he said. He kicked my legs apart and slammed into me. I cried out in pain. There was no wetness to help, so I knew it must have hurt him, too. Apparently teaching me a lesson was more important than getting his own pleasure.

I sobbed more with every thrust inside of me. My body felt less of my own with every horrible inch he forced into me. One of his hands was on my mouth, keeping me quiet, and the other was around my torso, disallowing me to get away. I tried everything. I even got a few kicks in, but he ignored it.

He finally pulled out of me and came on my back, pouring himself everywhere he could reach without letting go of me.*****

He let me go eventually and dragged me into the girls' room, straight to the bathroom. I was covered in dirt, Neal's blood, and Royce's semen. He threw me into the floor.

"Think about your options while you bathe. You fucking stink. I can do that to you every day you embarrass me. It's your choice," He spat. He slammed the door behind him. I collapsed on the floor and sobbed for a good two hours before finally getting up.

I could be strong. He could think he won, but he really hadn't.

He could have my body, but he would never have my soul.

* * *

A/N: Okay, that was hard. I have been sexually abused, but it wasn't at all as bad as Bella's experience. I barely remember it…and I don't mind telling you guys because it doesn't hurt anymore. I still hate the guy, and I always will (I have to see him at family parties and such, and I HATE it), but I still have my life, and it's pretty damn good. I want to prove that rape and abuse can ruin a person, but it also can not. It all depends on the situation and the victim.

Remember, not everything is completely accurate. The Bourbon Cowboy does exist, and I don't own it, but every other bar was made up.

Anyway, I have twitter now! Follow me! My penname is Bethanie818. And please REVIEW!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: **According to this chapter, it's been three months since Bella was kidnapped and forced to do terrible things. I hope everyone is still with me on this angsty story. I've never written anything like this, so it's a bit of a learning experience for me. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added my stories to your favorites and alerts. It means the world to me.**

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**Three Months Later**

**Edward**

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Finally, a day off. I was still on call, but so far my phone hadn't rang in two hours.

The Phantom was on the loose, and my unit and I had been running rampant searching for him with no luck. Just when we thought we had a lead or came close to finding him, he disappeared again.

The Phantom was a serial rapist and killer, named thus because at every scene of his crimes, he left a red rose, much like The Phantom of the Opera. He so far had four victims; all young women aged eighteen to twenty-nine. We had been chasing him for the last sixteen days, and today was my first day off since we realized we were dealing with a serial killer. His nickname was pretty lame; I knew that if I was as much a monster as him, I would be offended. It wasn't very creative, but at least we knew who we were talking about since we did not know his real name. He hid his identity well.

I thought being head of the Phantom case would be the greatest reward ever, and I knew I would make my boss, Marcus Lothario, glad of his choice in picking me. But it wasn't quite as much fun as I thought it would be. The hours and sweat and worry stressed me to no end. I'd only been with the FBI for two years now, but it felt like forever.

I used to drive a police cruiser and bring donuts to the chief every morning, but I'd worked my way up quickly. I didn't want to let Marcus down, and I especially didn't want to let the people of my beloved city down. After all I had been through here and all I had seen, I never wanted to see everything fall to pieces. And to make sure that didn't happen, I had to rid the city of that monster.

And monster he was; there was no denying what he deserved—a lifetime in prison or an immediate death sentence. Either scenario would be music to my ears.

The four women's brutally beaten faces were posted on the wall in my office. They were alike in many ways; all young, all thin, none were exceptionally attractive, but there was one similarity that confused me beyond belief: they were all prostitutes. At first I thought he was killing prostitutes because they were easy prey and easy to convince into following. But that wasn't it at all. From what I had found out from sources on the streets, the prostitutes hadn't gone with him for money. They'd gone completely willingly, no money involved. This was the reason I figured he would be a good looking man; why else would a prostitute leave with a man without being paid for it?

He had slaughtered them all in different ways. The first had been suffocated; the killer had shoved a bottle of wine down her throat. We guessed she'd been drinking from the bottle and suddenly _plop! _down her throat. There were signs of sexual abuse—no DNA left, of course—but we still questioned if it was done before or during the suffocation. Or perhaps he was also a necrophiliac, another sick name to add to this genius pain in the ass. He'd left her sitting at the table in the hotel room, recently eaten plates of food spread out next to her only to be found by room service the next day. A single red rose lay in the bathroom, our only clue.

The next victim was found in a much nicer hotel room. She'd been killed by a single stab wound in the heart. He'd left her body in the bathtub. Here was the catch: she was covered in money in the tub. Hundreds of one dollar bills lay under her and over her dead body. The rose was there again, that time on top of the television in the living room, clean of fingerprints. He was smart, that damn Phantom.

That was when we started to see the pattern. The next girl was killed on a couch, half a bag of popcorn sitting in her lap. The fourth and latest girl was chained to a wall inside an abandoned warehouse. Hers was the most brutal; there were slices all over her skin, and it was obvious she'd put up a fight. Large, angry gashes lined her neck and head. The pattern was obvious: he was recreating the seven deadly sins. The first had been gluttony, then greed, then sloth, and finally anger. There were only three left, and he was working quickly.

It was my only day off in two weeks, and thinking about the Phantom made me want to call off my day off and return to the station, as much as my brain needed a break. It was now noon, and I was starting to grow restless. I lay in my bed, trying to sleep, but my mind wouldn't have that.

_Where is he? _I thought. _When is he going to strike again?_

I needed sleep; I knew if I didn't eat a nice meal and sleep more than four hours, I was going to be no use to my unit tomorrow. Reluctantly, I got up from bed and made myself a sandwich.

My house was very quaint. I could afford more, but there was really no need. My parents had both been dead for years now. My dad had gone first, a stroke claiming his life not long after Hurricane Katrina. It was right before my High School graduation, and I'd had to give his ticket to my Aunt Muriel. That saying about once a person loses whom he loves, he follows soon after—that was the case for my parents. My mom was never diagnosed with breast cancer, but that was what the autopsy said caused her death. It was only two years after my father's death, and I knew that she had to have known what she had. She hid it well from me. I regretted not having gone see her more often; I should have stayed living with her instead of moving into an apartment on campus when I started college. As far as I knew, she never sought treatment. At first I'd been angry with her for leaving me on this Earth virtually alone, but then I realized why she never wanted my or anyone else's help. She wanted to be with my dad again, and I could never be mad at her for that.

Pictures of my parents were everywhere in my small house. There was even one next to the speedometer in my Volvo, the only thing I had ever splurged on. I figured if I wasn't going to get a beautiful house, I may as well get a beautiful car. My mom had driven an old Volvo, and I could only imagine what she would say if she saw the one I had now.

Mom would either reprimand me for buying something so expensive or rejoice that I'd taken after her in my taste of vehicle. I smiled, remembering the last thing she had said to me before I found out she was gone. Her sweet blue eyes had been both kind and sad when she'd fussed me.

Thinking of her eyes made me choke on the water I was currently sipping. It had sprouted an idea in my head, so genius and thrilling yet I dreaded it at the same time.

I grabbed a light jacket and ran to my car.

* * *

"Edward?" James said through the crack in the door.

"Hello, James. Long time no see, huh?" I said, holding in a frown. The stale smell of cigarette fumed out of the front door and into my nose.

He grimaced and said nothing. "Are you going to let me in?" I thought about taking out my badge, but there was really no point. He knew what I was, even though we hadn't seen each other in months. He hadn't forgotten. He seemed to debate opening the door to me or not. He looked back into the house before looking back at me. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I just want to talk. I'm not here to arrest anyone." With that, he hesitantly opened the door wider and let me in.

I walked into the small living room, peering around secretly. He obviously knew better than to let the girls wander around freely, especially with me here. I took in the room before me, trying to ignore the horrible smell. I was the type of person to only smoke when I drank, so I wasn't used to the smell. I couldn't imagine sleeping here every night.

James clapped his hands together awkwardly. "Beer?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. I sat down on the small couch across from the television. James came back with two beers and handed one to me before sitting across from me in an old leather recliner. The sound of us popping open the cans in the midst of the silence made the elephant in the room only get bigger. I waited for him to take a sip before doing so myself.

"I think I know what you're here for," he said suddenly. I was glad we wouldn't be making useless small talk. I didn't care about him and he surely didn't care about me. Not anymore.

"What am I here for?" I asked him.

"That fucking murderer. He's…a fucking lunatic," James continued.

I huffed and muttered, "You're not much better." I knew he heard me, but he didn't comment, probably because deep inside, he knew I spoke the truth.

"You're not here to discuss my issues. You want to ask me questions about the Phantom."

"How did you hear that name?"

"It was in the paper the other day after the last murder. Not a very creative nickname, I have to say."

"I was thinking the same thing this morning," I said. James let out a low, fake chuckle. We actually agreed on something; it was a sign of the apocalypse.

It was silent for a few more minutes until I decided the sooner I talked to him, the sooner I could leave.

"So…" I started.

"Edward, I don't know anything."

"What do you mean? How could you know nothing about this guy?"

"Royce handles everything, Edward. I don't really get a say in much. I've never dealt with the clients"—I scoffed at the word _clients_—"and I only see them when they walk out the bar."

"So you know no one that could possibly be a suspect? You have to at least know other pimps and other hookers. Had you ever seen any of the girls who were killed?" I asked.

James shook his head. "I knew one of them. The one that was found in a bathtub. I forgot her name, but I used to see her every once in a while. Edward, the other prostitutes don't come anywhere near our territory because they know that one of Royce's girls will always get picked before they will. They don't like the competition. So, no, I don't really see other girls leaving with men. I barely even see Royce's girls, and I practically live with them!"

Out of nowhere, I heard a retching sound nearby and turned my head to find the source.

"Don't mind that," James said, turning my attention back to him.

"What about Royce's girls. I know you don't see much of them when they're actually on the street, but has Royce talked about any men that wanted to…" I felt disgusted saying this… "_rent _one of yours, and he looked fishy and was turned away?"

I drank the rest of my beer while James thought hard.

"I mean, there was this one guy who wanted to buy. But he was turned away because he didn't have enough money, not because he was untrustworthy or anything." His answer was very satisfying, but I knew it was all I was going to get.

"Well, can you do me a favor?" I asked him. He frowned. "I just want you to keep a lookout for any strange man. From what I have guessed, he's going to be good looking, about 5'11", and in shape, enough that he could overtake a woman easily." James nodded.

I sighed and thought of something else, something that would surely make him want to help me catch this guy, if not for me, then for himself. "I would hate for you and Royce to lose a girl to this guy." I didn't mean one word of it, honestly. I would rather be brutally murdered than live one day like those girls, even if they _were _doing it willingly. I looked into James's face and tried to find the man I used to know.

He looked away from me as if he knew the purpose of my scrutiny. "Royce always checks the guys who buy. I don't think the girls are in any trouble," James said. I didn't believe him, but I wasn't going to push it. Every prostitute in the vicinity was in grave danger, and I bet they didn't even know.

"Tell the girls about what is going on. Let them know they should be wary with who to trust. I might even make a few rounds around Wryder's to see if I can find anything. And ask if they've heard anything. I mean, I know they probably don't associate with other hookers what with being the competition and all, but maybe they converse when they're out of your sight. Maybe they've heard some news or know what the guy looks like. Right now, I would take anything, even the color of his hair would help." James simply nodded at me again.

I spent another fifteen minutes on that couch talking about the Phantom with James. I didn't release any information I wasn't allowed to, but I gave him a good idea of how this guy's mind worked. My bladder called for attention just as I was getting up to leave, and instead of waiting the thirty minutes to get home and use my own bathroom, I started walking towards the one in the hall next to the kitchen.

"Wait," James called as I walked away from him, "What are you doing?"

"I just have to piss, and then I'll go."

"No, wait, use my—" _Too late. _I closed the door to the bathroom and turned around.

Before I could even get my hand to my zipper, I noticed a young girl slumped over the toilet, gagging weakly.

"Oh, my goodness. Are you alright?" I asked her. She had one arm wrapped limp around her legs, and the other was over the toilet seat, holding her head which was leaning over the bowl. I smelled the vomit, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the sight before me.

She started to look up at me, but her long brown hair fell in front of her face, hiding it from my view.

I quickly kneeled down and caught her hair before it could get into the toilet. I swept it back and gasped at how pale she was. She opened her eyes weakly and looked up at me. They were big, brown, bloodshot and so, so sad.

"Are you okay?" I asked her. "I'm sorry, that's a stupid question. Don't answer that." She gave me a look that said, _You're right. Duh._

"James!" I called out his name angrily. He opened the door and looked down at her, blinking quickly. He always did that when he knew he was about to get bitched at.

"What is wrong with her? What did y'all do to her?"

"We didn't do anything. She caught a stomach virus last night and has been throwing up ever since. I moved her to this bathroom because I didn't want her to get the other girls sick," he said defensively.

The girl's eyes closed, and I knew she was about to pass out. "Have you fed her anything?" I asked him. He didn't answer. "James!"

"She had cereal this morning, but she threw that up, too."

"Jesus, James, she's not some dog you can lock up and forget about. And you should know not to give milk to someone with a fever! She needs water!" Her lips were cracked and dry; she was dehydrated. Her eyes fluttered open before closing again. I pulled her away from the toilet and into my arms. Her skin was hot, the fever trying to rid her body of the sickness. I carried her into the kitchen, James following close behind.

"Get her a glass of water," I ordered, angry that he had ignored this poor, sick girl. "And some crackers, too."

He did exactly as I said while I sat the girl in a chair. She was in and out. I helped her drink the water and broke the crackers into small bites for her. She ate two little packets and drank all the water, which was less than I would have liked, but good enough.

She slumped over the table and I let her sleep.

"What is her name?" I asked James. He looked from me to her, thinking. I raised an eyebrow, wanting an answer.

"I forgot."

"How could you forget her name? It's not like you have fifty girls here," I said.

"She's new. I forgot her name. It starts with a B, that's all I know." I rolled my eyes at him and turned my attention back to her.

"I'm going to get out of here," I said, standing up. "Make sure you keep giving her water and a little bit of food. If she keeps throwing up, call me. I would tell you to bring her to the hospital, but I know you're not going to do that." He huffed and turned away from me.

Before I could take a step away from them, the girl made a soft sound, trying to get my attention. She was too weak to lift her head, so I leaned over to see her face. She looked _slightly _better. I smiled at her and urged her to say what she wanted to. I may not have liked the decisions prostitutes made, but that didn't make them my enemies. More often than not, I felt sorry for most of them.

The girl opened her eyes more and shifted her head a tiny bit to see me better. Her eyes surprised me. Even bloodshot, they were so beautiful and expressive. There was so much depth in the way she looked at me, it was like she was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.

"Um, you're welcome," I replied. She closed her eyes again. I straightened up and addressed James.

"Don't forget, keep your eyes open." With that, I walked out of the house and into my car. I drove a little faster home because then I did really need to pee.

* * *

The rest of my day off was spent on the couch watching television. There was this show called Jersey Shore that kept me entertained. I felt kind of disgusted with myself for actually sitting through two hours of pointless reality television, but I couldn't help it. When Jersey Shore was finished, I watched Keeping up with the Kardashians. And then I vowed that my next day off would be spent elsewhere, preferably a place without a TV.

The girl's pale, sick face haunted me throughout the day. I went to bed and dreamed of her, this girl whose name started with a B. I wondered what could have possibly made her want to sell her body for money. She was pretty even while being so sick; why didn't she just find her a sugar daddy or something? It wasn't the best idea, but it was surely better than working the corner.

The next morning I was awoken by unpleasant bile rising in my throat. I rushed to the toilet and vomited, realizing I'd caught the virus from the girl. I wasn't angry, though; I was glad I'd gotten close enough to help her, even if it did get me sick in the long run. I called Marcus and told him I was sick and would be no use to them until I got better. He just told me to feel better and come in if the vomiting slowed. I agreed and called one of my partners on the Phantom case, Alice.

"Hey, Edward. I heard you were sick," she answered cheerfully. She was always cheerful, even when examining blood soaked, dead bodies.

"Yeah, I got a stomach bug. How is everything going there, Al? Any news?"

"Nothing, Edward. We had the Jenson girl searched for prints twice, and I talked Greta into searching the rose one more time. I'm waiting for results now."

She was doing exactly as I would have done. I couldn't ask for more, but I was still pissed that we were getting nothing. "Well, I guess all I can say is hopefully we'll find something tomorrow." It was what I had said every day for the last two weeks.

"I bet you're sick of saying that," Alice said, sighing.

"You have no idea."

"We'll catch him, Edward."

"Yeah, when? When he's finished murdering every prostitute in town? Do you have any idea just how many women sell their bodies in this city?"

"Edward…" I immediately felt bad for letting my anger out on Alice. She didn't deserve my frustration.

"I'm sorry, Alice. That was uncalled for. I just want to find this guy."

"Me, too. And I want a day off. Jasper bought us a new electric stove a few days ago, and I can't wait to actually have time to cook something with it." I chuckled. She was the only woman I knew who jumped at the opportunity to cook something. Her husband, Jasper, was a divorce lawyer, and made a shit ton of money. We were all good friends. Alice didn't even need to work once she married Jasper, but she wanted something to do while he was gone, and she loved fighting crime with me.

"So what did you do yesterday?" she asked.

"You're never going to believe me," I answered. She knew my past with James.

"Try me, Edward Masen."

"I went see James."

"What? What made you want to do that? It's been like—"

"Eight months, I know. I just…thought he would know something."

"Did he?"

"If he did, he hid it from me. He gave me nothing. I made him promise to tell me if he found out or saw anything." Alice snorted. "I know his word doesn't mean much, but I hope I got through to him."

I pulled the phone away from my face as vomit crawled up again and I retched into the toilet I'd been next to all day. When I was done I rinsed my mouth and brought the phone back to my mouth.

"Well, that sounded like fun," Alice said, chuckling. "I'll let you go, Edward. Try to feel better. Get some rest, drink some water, watch some TV."

"Ugh, I'm so sick of TV."

"Then rent a porno."

I groaned. She laughed.

"I'll keep you posted. If anything comes up, I'll call you ASAP."

"Thanks, Al."

"Bye, boo!"

"Bye."

I pressed the end button and walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. I crashed on the bed and turned the television on. Jersey Shore was playing again, and I just couldn't make myself change the channel.

* * *

The next day I felt infinitely better and went to work a little early, anxious to see if anything had been found. Alice hadn't called me later, so I knew nothing came up, but I was still hopeful.

The day was full of Alice and me riding around the last crime scene and asking neighbors if they had seen the Jenson woman with a man when she entered the building. Lots of people turned us away, not wanting to get involved, but there were a few households who tried to help.

Afterwards, Alice and I returned to the station and called a meeting for every agent on the case. I brought the face pictures of the girls into the room and began to ask if anyone had found anything today. Of course, no one had. I wasn't really expecting them to have solved anything. The Phantom was far too intelligent. Deep down, I knew we were only going to catch him if he wanted us to.

I wrote down the four deadly sins that had been used so far, each under the picture of the victims.

"There's only three left: envy, pride, and lust. But just because there's only three left doesn't mean we can let these three future victims die. I am going to patrol the Quarter tonight with Alice, and I want all of you to break into groups of two and—"

I was interrupted by Marcus, who opened the door to the meeting room and gave me a look that told me it was urgent. "Hang on," I said to my group and walked out to talk to him.

"What's up?" I asked him.

He shook his head and sighed. "Another girl was just found in a dumpster behind a gas station in Gentilly. I need you to get together a few people and get there as soon as possible." I nodded solemnly. He gave me directions to the new crime scene and I did exactly as he said.

I told everyone what happened and picked out four people to follow Alice and me to the scene.

Alice and I were the first to arrive. We showed our badges to the police blocking the gas station and they let us through the yellow _Do Not Cross _tape.

"Shit!" I said when I looked into the dumpster. I had to stand on a bucket to be able to peer into it. I got down and kicked the dumpster with my foot. Alice took a look next before putting a hand on my shoulder to calm me. I laid my hands on my hips and took a minute to forget my feelings on what was going on long enough to get my job done.

"Lift her out of the dumpster," I ordered the people around me. They did as I said and laid her down on the ground. The blood splatter analysis took pictures of the ruined body while I tried not to vomit.

The woman's breasts had been cut off, and there was blood leaking from her center, but I didn't get any closer to find out why. Her lingerie was soaked in blood, and I had a feeling what this deadly sin was: lust. I watched as they put the white bag over her body and loaded her into the coroner's vehicle to have her examined.

I ran my fingers through my hair and asked the group of detectives if they had found anything in the building.

"The rose is over there," Will said. He pointed towards the barbed wire fence behind the dumpster.

I walked over and took a look at the beautiful flower. Alice followed me. It was hanging upside down from the barbed wire, a small string tied to the bottom of the stem.

"What does it mean, Edward?" Alice asked.

"It means the next victim is going to be hanged."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked the chapter! Can anyone guess how Edward knows James? And what sin is the Phantom going to use next? I got the idea of killing prostitutes from that show, Dexter. I love that show! I hope you guys aren't too grossed out with me yet. Cause it's going to get crazy.**

**I want to hear your thoughts! Please review! I slaved over this chapter. I think I deserve a comment in return! :)**

**Add me on Twitter! Bethanie818 I talk about how much I HATE Kristen Stewart and how much Robert Pattinson looks like my brother. It's a fun time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I was really happy with all the reviews on the last chapter! Thank you guys! This story has sucked me in like no other before. I enjoy writing it so much.**

**Some of you commented on wanting Edward to see a 'missing person' poster for Bella. Guys, Bella was still new in town. She didn't have any close friends, her boyfriend kicked her out, and she had no job to return to. No one is looking for her. Rosalie made sure of that in Chapter 1 when she asked Bella if anyone knew she was there. I just wanted to clear that up.**

**On with the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Five

Edward

I stared up the road at the three girls standing side by side. I could make out the white van not far from them, and I knew James had to be in it. I briefly wondered if he had lied to me about not knowing the brunette's name. She was there, right in the middle of the other two prostitutes. She was looking down at the sidewalk, arms slumped over. Her face held a tired expression, but not sad like the last time I had seen her. She was still pale, but not nearly as much as the other day. A pretty, navy blue lingerie set peeked out through her black coat.

She looked so out of place, so…innocent. The girl to the right of her was flirting with a man a few feet away, and the other girl looked indifferent. I stared at her for a long time as she gazed at the ground, not worried about whether she would see me. My windows were tinted very dark, and she was still quite far away from me.

I had been watching her for twenty minutes when another man came up to the three girls and started whistling at the girl whose name started with a B. My face grew hot with anger as I watched her practically cower away from him and cover herself with her arms. He tried to touch her face, and she snapped at him. I couldn't hear what she said, but from the look on her face, I knew she was standing up for herself. A strange pride gathered in my belly. The man simply laughed and gave up, walking away.

My fingers ached with sudden adrenaline. The thought of her going home with him or someone just the same made me sick. If he had walked into Royce's bar and offered a wad of cash, she would have had no say, and she would have been his for a night.

Before my mind knew what I was doing, my legs were out of the car and my hands were pulling my jacket hood over my head to hide my face. I was walking towards Wryder's not thirty feet away. I wasn't even sure what I wanted, I just knew I wanted _something_.

And then I was there, in Royce's dingy office in the back of the bar. He was sitting behind his desk, fooling with papers, a can of beer right next to him.

"Edward?" he asked, taking in the sight of me. I closed the door behind me. He seized up, obviously afraid I would handcuff him or something.

"Relax, idiot. You should know by now that I can't arrest you, as much as I would love to," I spat. I hadn't seen Royce in an even longer time than I'd seen James. To be more precise, it had been about a year. He hadn't changed one bit, still the overconfident bastard he had always been.

"Then what are you here for?"

I looked around his office, contemplating. "That girl in blue. I want to buy her for tonight." As soon as the words left my lips, I realized that was exactly what I wanted. I think. Then I got really confused, but my mouth couldn't form the words to take back what I said. My vocal cords were frozen.

Royce's jaw literally dropped. He quickly regained himself and said, "Is this some sort of test? I'm not falling for anything, Edward."

Then my vocal cords decided they wanted to act of their own accord. "It's no test. I'm completely serious."

_And a complete lunatic, _my brain added for me.

"How do I know you don't have a tape recorder in your pocket?" he asked next. I pulled out all my pockets, which contained Big Red gum, my badge, and my wallet. I just hoped he didn't ask for more than two hundred for her. It was all I was carrying.

"Why?" he asked when he was satisfied that I wasn't trying to get him in trouble.

That was a very good question.

"Does it really matter so long as you get paid and don't get into any trouble?" I asked, deflecting his question. I would figure out the reasons for my actions later.

Royce shrugged. "I guess not. You had better not be lying to me, though, Masen."

"How much do you want for the night?" I cut to the chase, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Well, for her, I normally charge a hefty price. She's new and some just really enjoy the little bit of innocence in the new ones. But I'll charge you a hundred. How does that sound? A third of the usual?"

How strange it was to be here discussing how much a person's life was worth. Every life to me was priceless; it was one of the reasons for my career choice—to protect lives. This girl was no different. There should be no price over her head like some cute dog in a pet shop. And for this bastard to give her away to some man for a night for three hundred dollars…it was despicable. I was just glad tonight I would be that man. At least I knew tonight she would be safe, taken care of and off the street, out of reach of the grubby hands of some pervert. Sure, she wouldn't be comfortable seeing as I was still a stranger, but safe.

"Fine." I slapped five twenties on the desk in front of him.

He took the cash and examined it. "She needs to be back by no later than noon tomorrow."

I stuck my wallet back in the pocket of my jeans, still in a bit of a daze. "That's not a problem," I told him.

He then got up from his seat and stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Pleasure doing business with you, Edward."

I merely glared at his hand until he lowered it, but the stupid smirk never left his face. I knew he probably thought his "business" was so good that even a good agent like me would fall mercy to the temptation. How wrong he was, the bastard. I wanted nothing more than to grab the hand he offered me and handcuff him, and have him locked in a jail cell in less than an hour.

My one comfort in this "deal" with Royce once the girl was back in his grasp was that she would at least get a little bit of the money I'd paid for her.

"I do have one special request, King," I said. He blinked. "I want James to have no knowledge of this. Call him now and tell him to drive away for a few minutes so he doesn't see me leave with the girl."

Royce nodded. "I understand." He did as I said, calling James and telling him to run some errand. Once he was off the phone, he turned back to me. "Meet her outside and tell her what's going on. She should listen to you without question. Call her CoCo so she knows for sure that I Ok'd it. That's her street name, and only people who buy her know it."

I nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Edward?" Royce called as I reached the door. I turned my head to the side in acknowledgement. "You had better bring her back. And I don't want no bullshit about her 'escaping'. Capiche?" His voice was so laced with threat, I almost gulped. I knew he meant that if I didn't return her, he was going to make sure I wish I had. I wasn't scared of Royce King, but the last thing I needed was a slip to my boss that I'd bought a prostitute for a night. This secret couldn't get out to anyone.

"Capiche," I said, trying to sound indifferent. I walked out then, acid floating on my tongue.

I pulled my hat further over my eyes, hiding from everyone in the bar. I walked out quickly through the front door and back into the air that still smelled like sewage even after all this time. My heart started pounding in my chest when I saw the girl, CoCo. Learning her real name was one of my goals of the night.

Once out the bar door, I looked over to where the white van had been earlier, and was satisfied by its disappearance. I walked quickly over to the girl and grabbed the back of her arms, startling her. I started pushing her in the direction of my car. She instantly started fighting me. I felt bad for scaring her, but hurrying was crucial. Some of the bars on Bourbon had outside security cameras because fights broke out often, and with a prostitute killer on the loose, I wouldn't put it past my unit to get hold of a tape. My face could _not _be caught on tape.

"C'mon, CoCo. I've got ya," I told her, wanting to show her my face so she knew I was the man who had helped her days before.

At the sound of her street name, the girl automatically made a sound of spitefulness but stopped struggling, letting me lead her away without so much as a glance back at me or the other prostitutes still waiting for a customer. It scared me how easily she had given in.

I led her to my car and opened the passenger side door, which seemed to surprise her. I figured she didn't get much gentlemanly behavior. As she sat in the passenger's seat, I noticed her subtly trying to peek at my face. I kept my hat forward, however.

Once I sat in the driver's seat, I removed my hat and the jacket completely. She looked over to me curiously and I met her gaze feeling like a child who had just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

Her big brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Do I know you?"

"Um. Uh…" I debated what exactly to tell her, not having expected her not to remember me. To be fair, though, she had been pretty out of it that day.

"I think getting away from here first is the most important thing," I said to her, starting the ignition. She rolled her eyes and looked back out the window. I drove off, ignoring the awkward silence that fell upon us. My house was a good twenty minutes away, and within only seconds I was already freaking out.

The girl stole glances at me out the corner of her eyes, just as I did to her. She still didn't look exactly healthy, and the makeup that caked her face certainly didn't help, but at least this time she wasn't pale and vomiting like the last time I'd seen her.

"You're that guy," she suddenly spoke up, looking at me fully now. I kept my eyes on the road. "Aren't you? You're that guy from the other day, the one who…helped me."

I nodded, stealing a quick glance at her, dying to see her expression. It wasn't one of gratitude like I'd expected. No, she was actually looking at me with a slight glare. My eyes turned back to the road.

"Yes, that was me." A pause, and then, "I caught your virus, too. Threw up the whole next day."

"Hmpf," was all she said, looking back out the window.

The rest of the ride was silent, but thankfully we reached my house shortly later. She got out of the car and followed me to the front door. I unlocked it with shaky hands, briefly wondering how many different times she'd done this same thing, walking into a stranger's house.

I turned on the light of the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

_Shit, this is awkward, _I thought, looking at her and grimacing.

Her eyebrows raised in challenge. "Well? What am I tonight? Seductress? Teenage innocent school girl? Tell me what you want so I can start," she said, crossing her arms.

"Tonight you can be yourself. I'm not looking for anything tonight, I swear," I promised her. She laughed; it was fake and full of sarcasm.

"Oh, I get it. You want to be the innocent one tonight. You want me to come on to you and forget about the fact that you stooped low enough to buy a prostitute," she spat the last word with disdain. "Well, okay. I can play that game. I've done it before."

"No, really. I'm being serious." I looked her up and down, considering her outfit. Despite everything, it _was _sexy. She was a beautiful girl, more than any of the other girls King had. But that wasn't why she was here. Honestly, I still didn't know the reason she was here, but that certainly was not it. "Would you like to change your clothes?"

"Look, bud, I highly doubt you have anything skimpier than this," she replied, gesturing to her attire.

"No, I definitely don't. But I do have some of my mom's old clothes upstairs and you're welcome to find something more comfortable. I'm sure something of hers will fit you." She gave me an incredulous look before slowly nodding.

I smiled and led her up the staircase to my mom's old bedroom. I showed her the closet before leaving her alone.

Once outside the room, I frantically shot for the bathroom, wanting a quick place to think. I splashed water in my face before gripping the sides of the sink and looking up at my reflection in the mirror.

_What am I going to do now?_ I thought. First off, the girl was a prostitute. What if she was also a thief?

_Edward, you're being judgmental, _I imagined my mother's voice chastising me. It was exactly what my mom would say in this predicament, and her words were right. The girl was a person just like everyone else in the world, and she deserved to be treated as such. I wouldn't think badly of her unless she gave me a reason to. The image of her pale face over the toilet surfaced in my mind, and I sighed.

With my job, I could _not _get caught with a prostitute. But I knew I also could not ask the girl to stay here. She had surely done this too many times, stayed in too many strangers' houses. I couldn't bring her anywhere near Bourbon Street, so the French Quarter was out, which was a shame because it happened to be one of my favorite places. But with different clothes, no one would assume she was a hooker. I could bring her _somewhere_.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the girl walk out of my mother's old room. She was dressed conservatively with beige capris pants and a navy blue V-neck that was a little loose on her. I realized it was probably the most clothes she'd worn in quite a while. The heavy makeup was gone, too. Her pale face was wary as she looked at me.

"You look nice," I assured her.

"Are we going somewhere?" she asked, looking down at her shoeless feet and ignoring my compliment.

"Um, yeah. We can go wherever you want, except anywhere around Bourbon," I said as I moved to fetch her a pair of sandals.

She scoffed. "I guess a police station is out of the question, huh?"

I immediately turned around and met her unhappy gaze. For a second I felt as if she saw right through me, right to the badge in my back pocket. Like she knew I could be the one to give her freedom.

But I couldn't.

Freedom…the word struck a nerve.

"You know, you don't really seem like a prostitute," I admitted to her. I was putting the pieces together, but it still didn't matter.

"I don't?" she asked mockingly. I swallowed, trying to get rid of the new lump in my throat.

"King forces you, doesn't he? You didn't sign up for this?"

Again with her x-ray eyes, she stared at me before slowly nodding.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, inwardly cringing. "I wish there was something I could do for you." The words were like acid on my tongue, similar to the way it felt every time I'd been given the dirty job of telling a family their son or daughter could never come home.

Her expression remained impassive, but I saw her eyes harden and her lip twitch slightly. "I guess that's a no to the police station then."

* * *

"Anywhere I want?" she asked me skeptically. We were in the car, waiting for her to pick a location.

"Well, you know the limitations."

"Yes, but I haven't exactly lived here long. I don't know many places."

I dragged my fingers along the steering wheel, thinking. "Do you like horror movies?"

She looked at me as if I were crazy. Seeing that I was serious, she answered, "Yeah. I like horror. It's pretty fun."

"Well, over in City Park there's a drive-thru theater, and tonight that new Scream movie is playing. It's really old-fashioned and cool. We can do that if you want."

"Pfft, a movie. You're making this sound more like a date than what it really is."

"And what is it, according to you?" I asked her, mad now that she still thought I expected something much different from her.

"I don't know, but I'm still not falling for this normal charade you're depicting. You are just like the rest, and I will not be tricked." She refused to meet my gaze as I stared her down, holding in a growl. "Let's just go see the damn movie."

For a second, I thought I'd heard a tinge of excitement in her voice.

* * *

**A/N: I'm cutting Chapter 5 in half. So this is the first half. It's slow, but crucial. Next chapter will be quicker, and we'll hear from Bella. Her bitchiness will be more understood then.**

**IMPORTANT: I am sorry it's taken me so long to update! First it was school, then it was finals, and then I had major back surgery. I totally thought that because I was on bed-rest I would be able to write a lot, but I was so wrong. I could barely sit up for a month. But I'm better now! Stranded is next on my list!**

**Please review! 3**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

* * *

"I hope you're not a big fan of popcorn," I told the girl in my passenger seat, parking on the street next to Tootie Fruities. "Because I hate popcorn."

She looked around, confused. "Where are we?" I walked over to her side and opened her door, gesturing to the small building. "We're getting ice-cream!" I said cheerfully. She simply looked up at me from her seat, frowning.

"Do you not like ice-cream?"

She ignored my question and stepped onto the sidewalk. "It says yogurt on the sign," she muttered.

"Yeah, but they sell ice-cream too. C'mon." I almost gave her a little push in the right direction but decided against it. Maybe not touching her was the key to getting her to trust me.

"Pick anything you want," I said as we walked through the door. She furrowed her brow but still remained silent. Once it was our turn, she ordered a chocolate malt, her voice so low I could barely understand what she was saying. I briefly wondered how long it had been since she had been in a public place like this. Her discomfort was obvious and I noticed her eyes darting around the room as I told the man I wanted a banana split.

_Please, God, don't be contemplating screaming for help, _I inwardly pled. I honestly had no idea what I would do if she would try something, and I started thinking maybe ice-cream had been a bad idea. But she didn't. I realized Royce must have taught her well not to scream bloody murder in the first public place she found. Though his probable brain washing and abuse was helping me now, the thought made me uneasy. She _should _run for help. It's what any normal person would do. It's what _I _would do.

I handed her the malt and led her back to the car. We ate in there quietly as I searched the movie times.

"Does midnight sound good?" I asked her, breaking the silence.

She looked up from her malt and scrutinized me before blurting, "Why are you doing this?" What's your deal? Trying to lure me into a false sense of security? Is that it? Could you at least tell me the truth? I think I deserve the right to know when you're going to pounce."

"Who said anything about pouncing?" I said defensively.

She rolled her eyes and slumped down further into her seat, avoiding my eyes. She glared forward and ran her tongue over her teeth. It was actually quite comical what with her wearing my mother's pink sweater and yellow carpis. She looked like a pissed off flower.

"How much did you pay for me tonight?" Her voice seemed much more under control, but there was a hint of menace underneath.

"I don't see how that matters," I told her, looking away sheepishly. I didn't want her to think I thought her life—or any life for that matter—was worth any amount of money.

"Just answer the question," she snapped. Then, more calmly, she added, "It's just something I ask everyone."

I hesitated before deciding to be honest. "I paid a hundred for the night," I said. At this, she was surprised.

"A hundred? That's it? What, were you just expecting a blow—"

"No!" I nearly shouted. "Like I said, I don't expect anything from you. Royce…gave me a discount, that's all."

"A discount…" she repeated thoughtfully. "What makes you so special? I've never heard of the bastard cutting the price so low. You must be his best friend or something," she added, disgusted. Did she talk this way to every man she spent the night with? Surely they weren't as nice as I was being. Here I was, paying her a favor, and she was still being a total ass.

No, a favor would be setting her free.

"Believe me, I am not friends with that scum," I said. "Look, I swear that I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to. Can we just leave it like that? You should just enjoy your night away from Royce and any other…client. Okay?"

"Why? I'll just have to return in the morning." She looked at me, noticing the slight glare I was giving her for being so damn difficult. She sighed in defeat. "Fine," she muttered, gesturing to the road in front of us. I quickly put the car in drive and took off, headed for City Park.

I paid the woman at the entrance for our tickets and picked a good spot to park. My dad and I used to come here all the time, but I hadn't been since he died.

The previews were met with another uncomfortable silence apart from the speakers connected to our windows. But there was one thing I was very curious about.

"I know Royce must not be very nice to you…" I started. She gave me a look that said _What now?_

I continued before she could protest. "But what about his partner? James?"

She glanced back to the movie thoughtfully. "James isn't as bad as Royce," she admitted. I felt a bit of relief at that.

"Does he stay in the house all the time?"

"I think so. I really don't have much idea what's going on when I'm locked in the room. He could leave the house then for all I know," she said. "Why? Is that why you came over the other day? Are you his parole officer or something?"

I chuckled. "Not even close. Believe me, I wish I didn't know either of the bastards."

"So how do you know them?"

I sighed, not wanting to tell her the truth. It was embarrassing.

"You buy drugs from them?" she pushed.

"_No," _I responded adamantly. "It's complicated."

"Is that why you got me tonight? To get information on them? 'Cause I'll be honest, I don't know much."

"No, that's not why."

"Then what's the _real_ reason?"

"I'll tell you when I figure it out myself." That answer seemed to both confuse and satisfy her, and she let it go.

The movie started, and I noticed the teenagers in the car next to us were already making out. I stayed silent and watched the screen, trying not to glance at the woman sitting in my passenger's seat.

* * *

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, a woman named Renee Dwyer lay on her death bed, speaking softly to her only son.

He was sitting close to her, the only soul around to see his favorite person pass into the next world. He gripped one of her old, sick hands in his own large ones, trying to keep the tears from running silently down his tanned cheeks.

"I need you to do something for me, sweetheart," she said weakly, but determined.

"Mom, save your strength. You don't have to say anything if you're hurting."

"Emmett," she continued, ignoring his request. "I'm sorry," she stopped for a minute, trying to catch her breath. She hadn't talked this much in days, and she felt death approaching quickly, within the next few hours or so. But it could not take her without explaining something to her son.

She had always meant to tell him, but years of cowardice held her back, her fear of his anger too much to even think of spilling her worst secret. But now she was dying, and she still hadn't told a soul; he was going to find out eventually when he cleaned out her house, so it was best she do it now. After all, once she was out of this realm, she wouldn't have to deal with whatever feelings he would have toward her. She was _still _being cowardly, and she knew it.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, but her apology wasn't just for the young man sitting beside her. Emmett's brows came together in confusion, having no idea what his mother could possibly be sorry for, He brushed it off as her just talking nonsense from her sickness.

"I need you to go into my bottom dresser drawer and find an envelope hidden there," Renee wheezed slowly.

He did as he was told, weary of what he would find. He pushed aside the underwear, no doubt hidden there so no one would even think of looking in that spot. Sure enough, at the very bottom of the drawer, there was a crumpled envelope with no name on it. Emmett got back up and brought the letter over to his chair next to his mother, examining it. Renee's eyes opened for the first time that day, catching sight of the letter she had grown to hate over the last few years, the letter she had put in the mail countless times just to pull it out at the last minute to make sure it wouldn't get sent.

Emmett sat down, now worried that this letter would only upset his mother in her last moments. But he was insanely curious. The envelope was starting to yellow, obviously a few years old at least, and looked as if it had been crumpled up and straightened out a few times. Emmett guessed his mom had thrown it away and then changed her mind many times. The thought caused a pang in Emmett's heart, knowing whatever was in this letter had taken a toll on his mother and had probably stressed her out for a while now. He was briefly tempted to just burn the damn thing without even opening it.

"Mom?" Emmett said, making sure she was still _there_. She smiled weakly at him. Emmett started opening the letter.

"No," Renee pled, stopping Emmett from tearing any further. "Do it later. After…" her voice trailed off, and he understood what she meant. He sighed sadly and tucked the letter inside his jacket pocket. He fluffed up her pillow lovingly as she drifted into unconsciousness once again.

Another two hours later found Renee Dwyer passing into the after-life. Her only son wept silently, alone, his tears coming as a surprise to him. He'd known she was going to die. He'd known for a long time now. There'd barely been a fight, and Emmett was happy for her, glad she had finally escaped the pain. But there was still the fact that she was his mother, and now she was gone.

Later that night after his mother's body had been taken to the morgue and he'd made calls to plan the funeral, Emmett lay in his old childhood bed. He couldn't bring himself to go home, not tonight. He remembered when they'd moved into this house, when he'd begged his mom to let him use the loft as his room instead of the other bedroom in the house. It was definitely smaller than the bedroom, but Emmett didn't care; he wanted the loft because of the radical glass ceiling. He would look up at the stars every night from his pillow and memorize which ones were bigger and brighter and exactly where they were in the sky. Doing so tonight made him feel infinitely better after many years of living in his own house.

And suddenly he remembered the envelope that had been tucked away in his jacket pocket. Carefully he pulled it out and examined the yellowed paper one more time before opening it with shaky hands.

* * *

**Edward**

Once the movie was over I started to drive home. The girl didn't say much, but it made me happy that she'd gotten so engrossed in the film. I felt bad for wanting a 'thank you' from her, but it was mostly just because I was hoping that deep inside, she was still a good enough person to feel gratitude. That could at least show me she wasn't completely controlled by Royce and James.

"Do you have any family around here?" I asked, breaking the awkward silence.

She rolled her head against the headrest and gave me a scathing look.

"Right, I guess not."

She took a deep breath. "My mom disappeared when I was little. And my dad died a year ago," she said. I felt my eyebrows raise in shock; she actually shared something with me!

"I'm sorry."

"Then I moved here. Thought I could start over. Well, I started over, all right."

I bit my lip, contemplating.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, not unkindly. _Finally, _I thought. _She's actually cooperating._

"You know about that murderer on the loose, right? The Phantom?"

I felt her eyes on me, but couldn't decipher the emotion on her face.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I've heard a little from the other girls. He's killing prostitutes."

I heard no trace of fear in her voice. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"What do the girls say?"

"Some of them are scared. Candy swears she knows who it is, but she lies about everything," she snickered. "She tried to tell us he was 6'4" and had a dangerous looking scar down his left eye. Then the next time she talked about him, her story completely changed. She said he was short and wore a big camouflage coat and hunting boots and he had a beard."

"Do any of the others talk about him?"

Her lips pursed in thought. "Blondie said she knew the last girl that was killed. They went way back. Berry—she just had a baby—said that he won't come after Royce's girls because of Royce's wrath. But they're all still scared."

"Are you scared?" I asked.

"No," she said immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because if you ask me, I think Royce is behind this whole killing spree. I mean, how many girls have been killed so far? Five? And not one of them is Royce's girls. I don't think it's because this murderer is afraid of Royce. I think it's because…" she drifted off. "_Holy fuck_!"

"What?" I shouted. She'd scared me half to death, and I almost swerved into the car driving in the next lane. She pushed herself against her car door, away from me.

"It's you isn't it?" she shrieked. "They said he was good looking. They said he probably had money, too."

I rolled my eyes and told her to calm down. "No, it's not me. Thanks for the compliment, though."

"Well, then why are you so interested?"

I pulled into my driveway, happy to finally be getting out and hopefully onto another topic.

"I'm just curious is all," I said, getting out of the car. She got out, too, before fixing me with a stare.

"What's your name, anyway?" she questioned. One hand went to her cocked hip.

"Oh, I'm supposed to tell you my name, but you can't tell me yours?" I teased, walking into the house. She followed me, aggravated and amused.

She caught me off guard by coming within an inch of me, our bodies almost touching. She was every bit sassy, hands still on her hips, and said, "It's Bella."

"Edward," I retorted, briefly wondering what made her change her act so quickly. Maybe she appreciated what I'd done tonight after all.

She pulled away. "I'm tired," she said, looking up at me curiously, probably testing to see what I would say to that. To see if everything I'd said about letting her do what she wanted was true.

"You can go to sleep in my mother's old room," I said. She nodded and walked up the stairs, glancing back at me. I smiled in assurance; I wanted nothing from her.

I stayed on the couch for a while, tossing back a couple beers. I worried she would try to escape through the window or something, but decided the windows were so old now, that if she tried to open one, it would break, and I would definitely hear it.

Hours passed, and I looked at files I'd taken home, hoping to find a similarity in arrests we'd made in the last few years. Serial killers and rapists usually started off small. Maybe the guy had already been caught and released on earlier charges.

Suddenly I heard light footsteps on the staircase, and looked up to see the girl, Bella, tiptoeing down. I immediately was glad I'd stayed up, for I realized what she was trying to do: escape. I couldn't blame her for trying to get her freedom, but I just couldn't let her go. Hell would rain on me if I did. Maybe someday I could help her, but tonight was not it.

She abruptly realized I was in the room, and looked sheepish.

"Water," she lied, pointing at the fridge. I smirked, and got up to fix her a glass. I handed it to her, and she sipped, making eye contact the whole time before turning around and walking back upstairs without a word.

I lay down on the couch again, thinking about what Bella had said earlier about Royce being behind the killings. It was definitely a possibility, though I couldn't help but think that Royce just wasn't _that _smart. No, this Phantom was surely smarter than Royce King.

But I would still run it by Alice in the morning.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait, guys. I'll try better next time. And what do y'all think was in that letter? Hmmm. Read and Review, please!**


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